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WHEN  VALMOND  CAME 
TO  PONTIAC 

THE  STORY  OF  A  LOST  NAPOLEON 


BY 

GILBERT   PARKER 


CHICAGO 

STONE  6-  KIMBALL 

MDCCCXCV 


COPYRIGHT 

BY  STONE  &  KIMBALL 
MDCCCXCV 

First  Edition,  June 
Second  Edition,  August 


TO 

MRS.  WILSON  MARSHALL 

VALMOND'S 
BEST  FRIEND 

AND  MY 
COMRADE 

IN  HIS 
FORTUNES 


"  Oh,  withered  is  the  garland  of  the  war; 
The  soldier's  poll  is  broken  i " 


When  Valmond  Came 
To  Pontiac 

THE  STORY   OF  A   LOST  NAPOLEON 

CHAPTER  I 

(^/N  one  corner  stood  the  house  of  Monsieur 
Garon  the  avocat ;  on  another,  the  shop  of  the  Lit- 
tle Chemist ;  on  another,  the  office  of  Medallion 
the  auctioneer ;  and  on  the  last,  the  Hotel  Louis 
Quinze.  The  chief  characteristics  of  Monsieur 
Garon's  house  were  its  brass  door-knobs,  and  the 
verdant  luxuriance  of  the  vines  that  climbed  its 
sides ;  of  the  Little  Chemist's  shop,  the  perfect 
whiteness  of  the  building,  the  rolls  of  sober  wall- 
paper, and  the  bottles  of  colored  water  in  the 
shop  windows  ;  of  Medallion's,  the  stoop  that  sur- 
rounded three  sides  of  the  building,  and  the 
notices  of  sales  tacked  up,  pasted  up,  on  the 
front ;  of  the  Hotel  Louis  Quinze,  the  deep  dormer 
windows,  its  solid  timbers,  and  the  veranda  that 
gave  its  front  distinction — for  this  veranda  had 
been  the  pride  of  several  generations  of  landlords, 


10          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

and  its  heavy  carving  and  bulky  grace  were  worth 
even  more  admiration  than  Pontiac  gave  to  it. 

The  square  which  the  two  roads  and  the  four 
corners  made  was,  on  week-days,  the  rendezvous 
of  Pontiac,  and  the  whole  parish  ;  on  Sunday 
mornings  the  rendezvous  was  shifted  to  the  large 
church  on  the  hillside,  beside  which  was  the  house 
of  the  Cure",  Monsieur  Fab  re.  Travelling  towards 
the  south  out  of  the  silken  haze  of  a  midsummer 
day,  you  would  come  in  time  to  the  hills  of  Maine  ; 
north,  to  the  city  of  Quebec  and  the  River  St. 
Lawrence  ;  east,  to  the  ocean  ;  and  west,  to  the 
Great  Lakes  and  the  land  of  the  English.  Over 
this  bright  province  Britain  raised  her  flag,  but 
only  Medallion  and  a  few  others  loved  it  for  its 
own  Sake,  or  saluted  it  in  the  English  tongue. 

In  the  drab  velvet  dust  of  these  four  corners, 
were  gathered,  one  night  of  July  a  generation  ago, 
the  children  of  the  village  and  many  of  their 
elders.  All  the  events  of  that  epoch  were  dated 
from  the  evening  of  this  day.  Another  day  of 
note  the  parish  cherished,  but  it  was  merely  a 
grave  fulfilment  of  the  first. 

Upon  the  veranda-stoop  of  the  Louis  Quinze 
stood  a  man  of  apparently  about  twenty-eight 
years  of  age.  When  you  came  to  study  him  close- 
ly, some  sense  of  time  and  experience  in  his  look 
told  you  that  he  might  be  thirty-eight,  though  his 
few  gray  hairs  seemed  but  to  emphasize  a  certain 
youthfulness  in  him.  His  eye  was  full,  singularly 
clear,  almost  benign  ;  at  one  moment  it  gave  the 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          II 

impression  of  resolution,  at  another  it  suggested 
the  wayward  abstraction  of  the  dreamer.  He  was 
well-figured,  with  a  hand  of  peculiar  whiteness, 
suggesting  in  its  breadth  more  the  man  of  action 
than  of  meditation.  But  it  was  a  contradiction, 
for  as  you  saw  it  rise  and  fall,  you  were  struck  by 
its  dramatic  delicacy  ;  as  it  rested  on  the  railing 
of  the  veranda,  by  its  latent  power.  You  faced 
incongruity  everywhere.  His  dress  was  bizarre, 
his  face  almost  classical,  the  brow  clear  and 
strong,  the  profile  good  to  the  mouth,  where  there 
showed  a  combination  of  sensuousness  and  adven- 
ture. Yet  in  the  face  there  was  an  elusive  sad- 
ness, strangely  out  of  keeping  with  the  long  linen 
coat,  frilled  shirt,  the  flowered  waistcoat,  lavender 
trousers,  boots  of  enamelled  leather,  and  straw  hat 
with  white  linen  streamers.  It  was  a  whimsical 
picture. 

At  the  moment  that  the  Cure*  and  Medallion 
the  auctioneer  came  down  the  street  together 
towards  the  Louis  Quinze,  talking  amiably,  this 
singular  gentleman  was  throwing  out  hot  pennies, 
with  a  large  spoon,  from  a  tray  in  his  hand,  call- 
ing on  the  children  to  gather  them,  in  French 
which  was  not  the  French  of  Pontiac — or  Quebec  ; 
and  this  fact  the  Cure"  was  quick  to  detect,  as 
Monsieur  Garon  the  avocat,  standing  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  crowd,  had  done  some  moments 
before.  The  stranger  seemed  only  conscious  of 
his  act  of  liberality  and  the  children  before  him. 
There  was  a  naturalness  in  his  enjoyment  which 


12          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

was  almost  boy-like  ;  a  nai've  sort  of  exultation 
seemed  to  possess  him. 

He  laughed  softly  to  see  the  children  toss  the 
pennies  from  hand  to  hand,  blowing  to  cool  them  ; 
the  riotous  yet  half-timorous  scramble  for  them, 
and  burnt  fingers  thrust  into  hot  blithe  mouths. 
And  when  he  saw  a  fat  little  lad  of  five  crowded 
out  of  the  way  by  his  elders,  he  stepped  down 
with  a  quick  word  of  sympathy,  put  a  half  dozen 
pennies  in  the  child's  pocket,  snatched  him  up  and 
kissed  him,  and  then  returned  to  the  veranda,  where 
were  gathered  the  landlord,  the  miller,  and  Mon- 
sieur De  la  Riviere  the  young  Seigneur.  But  the 
most  intent  spectator  of  the  scene  was  Parpon 
the  dwarf,  who  sat  grotesquely  crouched  upon  the 
wide  ledge  of  a  window. 

Tray  after  tray  of  pennies  was  brought  out  and 
emptied,  till  at  last  the  stranger  paused,  handed 
the  spoon  to  the  landlord,  drew  out  a  fine  white 
handkerchief,  dusted  his  fingers,  standing  silent 
for  a  moment,  and  smiling  upon  the  crowd. 

It  was  at  this  point  that  some  young  villager 
called,  in  profuse  compliment,  "  Three  cheers  for 
the  Prince ! " 

The  stranger  threw  an  accent  of  pose  into  his 
manner,  his  eye  lighted,  his  chin  came  up,  he 
dropped  one  hand  negligently  on  his  hip,  and 
waved  the  other  in  acknowledgment.  Presently 
he  beckoned,  and  from  the  hotel  were  brought 
out  four  great  pitchers  of  wine  and  a  dozen  tin 
cups,  and  sending  the  garden  around  with  one, 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          13 

the  landlord  with  another,  he  motioned  Parpon 
the  dwarf  to  bear  a  hand.  Parpon  shot  out  a 
quick,  half- resentful  look  at  him,  but  meeting  a 
warm,  friendly  eye,  he  took  the  pitcher  and  went 
among  the  elders,  while  the  stranger  himself 
courteously  drank  with  the  young  men  of  the 
village,  who,  like  many  wiser  folk,  thus  yielded  to 
the  charm  of  mystery.  To  every  one  he  said  a 
hearty  thing,  and  sometimes  touched  his  greeting 
off  with  a  bit  of  poetry  or  a  rhetorical  phrase. 
These  dramatic  extravagances  served  him  well, 
for  he  was  among  a  race  of  story-tellers  and 
crude  poets. 

Parpon,  uncouth  and  furtive,  moved  through 
the  crowd,  dispensing  as  much  irony  as  wine  : 

"  Three  bucks  we  come  to  a  pretty  inn, 
*  Hostess/  say  we,  *  have  you  red  wine  ? ' 

Brave  !    Brave  ! 
'  Hostess,'  say  we,  *  have  you  red  wine?' 

Bravement ! 
Our  feet  are  sore  and  our  crops  are  dry, 

Bravement  I " 

This  he  hummed  to  Monsieur  Garon  the  avo- 
cat,  in  a  tone  all  silver,  for  he  had  that  one  gift 
of  Heaven  as  recompense  for  his  deformity, — his 
long  arms,  big  head,  and  short  stature, — a  voice 
which  gave  you  a  shiver  of  delight  and  pain  all 
at  once.  It  had  in  it  mystery  and  the  incompre- 
hensible. This  drinking  song,  lilted  just  above 
his  breath,  touched  some  antique  memory  in  the 


14          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

avocat,  and  he  nodded  kindly  at  the  dwarf,  though 
he  refused  the  wine. 

"  Ah,  M'sieu'  le  Curd,"  said  Parpon,  ducking 
his  head  to  avoid  the  hand  that  Medallion  would 
have  laid  on  it,  "  we're  going  to  be  somebody 
now  in  Pontiac,  bless  the  Lord  !  We're  simple 
folk,  but  we're  not  neglected.  He  wears  a  king's 
ribbon  on  his  breast,  M'sieu'  le  Cure* ! " 

This  was  true.  Fastened  by  a  gold  bar  to  the 
stranger's  breast  was  the  crimson  ribbon  of  an 
order. 

The  Curd  smiled  at  Parpen's  words,  and  looked 
curiously  and  gravely  at  the  stranger.  Tall  Me- 
dallion, the  auctioneer,  took  a  glass  of  the  wine, 
and  lifting  it,  said  :  "  Who  shall  I  drink  to,  Par- 
pon, my  dear  ?  What  is  he  ?  " 

"  Ten  to  one,  a  dauphin  or  a  fool,"  answered 
Parpon  with  a  laugh  like  the  note  of  an  organ. 
"Drink  to  both,  long  legs."  Then  he  trotted 
away  to  the  Little  Chemist. 

"  Hush,  my  brother,"  said  he,  and  he  drew  the 
other's  ear  down  to  his  mouth.  "  Now  there'll 
be  plenty  of  work  for  you.  We're  going  to  be  gay 
in  Pontiac.  We'll  come  to  you  with  our  spoiled 
stomachs." 

He  edged  round  the  circle,  and  back  to  where  the 
miller  his  master,  and  the  young  Seigneur  stood. 

"Make  more  fine  flour,  old  man,"  said  he  to 
the  miller  ;  "  pate's  are  the  thing  now."  Then,  to 
Monsieur  De  la  Riviere  :  "  There's  nothing  like 
hot  pennies  and  wine  to  make  the  world  love  you. 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          15 

But  it's  too  late,  too  late  for  my  young  Seigneur  ! " 
he  added  in  mockery,  and  again  he  began  to  hum 
in  a  sort  of  amiable  derision: 

"  My  little  tender  heart, 

0  gai,  vive  le  roi  ! 
My  little  tender  heart, 

O  gai,  vive  le  roi  ! 
'Tis  for  a  grand  baron, 

Vive  le  roi,  la  reine; 
'Tis  for  a  grand  baron, 

Vive  Napoleon  !  " 

With  the  last  two  lines  the  words  swelled  out  far 
louder  than  was  the  dwarfs  intention,  for  few  save 
Medallion  and  Monsieur  De  la  Riviere  had  ever 
heard  him  sing.  His  concert  house  was  the  Rock 
of  Red  Pigeons,  his  favorite  haunt,  his  other  home, 
where,  it  was  said,  he  met  the  Little  Good  Folk 
of  the  Scarlet  Hills,  and  had  gay  hours  with  them. 
And  this  was  a  matter  of  awe  to  the  timid  habi- 
tants. 

At  the  words  "  Vive  Napoleon  !  "  a  hand  touched 
him  on  the  shoulder.  He  turned  and  saw  the 
stranger  looking  at  him  intently,  his  eyes  alight. 

"  Sing  it,"  he  said  softly,  yet  with  an  air  of  com- 
mand. Parpon  hesitated,  shrank  back. 

"Sing  it,"  he  persisted,  and  the  request  was 
taken  up  by  others,  till  Parpen's  face  flushed  with 
a  sort  of  pleasurable  defiance.  The  stranger 
stooped  and  whispered  something  in  his  ear. 
There  was  a  moment's  pause,  in  which  the  dwarf 


1 6          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

looked  into  the  other's  eyes  with  an  intense 
curiosity,  or  incredulity — and  then  Medallion 
lifted  the  little  man  onto  the  railing  of  the  veranda, 
and  over  the  heads  and  into  the  hearts  of  the 
people  there  passed,  in  a  divine  voice,  a  song 
known  to  many,  yet  coming  as  a  new  revelation 
to  them  all. 

'*  My  mother  promised  it, 

O  gai,  vive  le  roi  ! 
My  mother  promised  it, 

O  gai,  vive  le  roi  ! 
To  a  gentleman  of  the  king, 

Vive  le  roi,  la  reine  ; 
To  a  gentleman  of  the  king, 

Vive  Napoleon  !  " 

This  was  chanted  lightly,  airily,  with  a  sweet- 
ness almost  absurd,  coming  as  it  did  from  so 
uncouth  a  musician.  The  last  verses  had  a  touch 
of  pathos,  droll  yet  searching  : 

41  Oh,  say,  where  goes  your  love, 

0  gai,  vive  le  roi  ? 
Oh,  say,  where  goes  your  love, 

O  gai,  vive  le  roi  ? 
He  rides  on  a  white  horse, 

Vive  le  roi,  la  reine  ; 
He  wears  a  silver  sword, 

Vive  Napoleon  ! 

"Oh,  grand  to  the  war  he  goes, 

0  gai,  vive  le  roi  ! 
Oh,  grand  to  the  war  he  goes, 
O  gai,  vive  le  roi  ! 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          17 

Gold  and  silver  he  will  bring, 

Vive  le  roi,  la  reine  ; 
And  eke  the  daughter  of  a  king — 

Vive  Napoleon  !  " 

The  crowd,  women  and  men,  youths  and  maid- 
ens, enthusiastically  repeated  again  and  again  the 
last  lines  and  the  refrain,  "Vive  le  roi,  la  reine / 
Vive  Napoleon  !  " 

Meanwhile  the  stranger  stood,  now  looking  at 
the  singer  with  eager  eyes,  now  searching  the 
faces  of  the  people,  keen  to  see  the  effect  upon 
them.  His  glance  found  the  Cure",  the  avocat,  and 
the  auctioneer,  and  his  eyes  steadied  successively 
to  Medallion's  humorous  look,  to  the  Cure"s  puzzled 
questioning,  to  the  avocat's  birdlike  curiosity.  It 
was  plain  they  were  not  antagonistic  (why  should 
they  be  ?) ;  and  he — was  there  any  reason  why  he 
should  care  whether  or  no  they  were  for  him  or 
against  him  ? 

True,  he  had  entered  the  village  in  the  dead  of 
night,  with  much  luggage  and  many  packages, 
had  roused  the  people  at  the  Louis  Quinze,  the 
driver  who  had  brought  him  departing  gayly,  be- 
fore daybreak,  because  of  the  gifts  of  gold  given 
him  above  his  wage.  True,  this  singular  gentle- 
man had  taken  three  rooms  in  the  little  hotel, 
had  paid  the  landlord  in  advance,  and  had  then 
gone  to  bed,  leaving  word  that  he  was  not  to  be 
waked  till  three  o'clock  the  next  afternoon.  True, 
the  landlord  could  not  by  any  hint  or  indirection 
discover  from  whence  this  midnight  visitor  came. 
2 


1 8          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

But  if  a  gentleman  paid  his  way,  and  was  gener- 
ous and  polite,  and  minded  his  own  business, 
wherefore  should  people  busy  themselves  about 
him  ?  When  he  appeared  on  the  veranda  of 
the  inn  with  the  hot  pennies,  not  a  half  dozen 
people  in  the  village  had  known  aught  of  his  pres- 
ence in  Pontiac.  The  children  came  first  to 
scorch  their  fingers  and  fill  their  pockets,  and 
after  them  the  idle  young  men,  and  the  habitants 
in  general. 

The  song  done,  the  stranger,  having  shaken 
Parpon  by  the  hand,  and  again  whispered  in  his 
ear,  stepped  forward.  The  last  light  of  the  set- 
ting sun  was  reflected  from  the  red  roof  of  the 
Little  Chemist's  shop,  upon  the  quaint  figure  and 
eloquent  face,  which  had  in  it  something  of  the 
gentleman,  something  of  the  comedian.  The  alert 
Medallion  himself  did  not  realize  the  comedian  in 
it,  till  the  white  hand  was  waved  grandiloquently 
over  the  heads  of  the  crowd.  Then  something  in 
the  gesture  corresponded  with  something  in  the 
face,  and  the  auctioneer  had  a  nut  which  he  could 
not  crack  for  many  a  day.  The  voice  was  mu- 
sical,—as  fine  in  speaking  almost  as  the  dwarfs 
in  singing, — and  the  attention  of  the  children  was 
caught  by  the  warm,  vibrating  tones.  He  ad- 
dressed himself  to  them. 

"My  children,"  he  said,  "my  name  is — Val- 
mond  !  We  have  begun  well  ;  let  us  be  better 
friends.  I  have  come  from  far  off  to  be  one  of 
you,  to  stay  with  you  for  awhile — who  knows  how 


WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC  19 

long — how  long  ?  "  He  placed  a  finger  medita- 
tively on  his  lips,  sending  a  sort  of  mystery  into 
his  look  and  bearing.  "  You  are  French,  and  so 
am  I.  You  are  playing  on  the  shores  of  life,  and 
so  am  I.  You  are  beginning  to  think  and  dream, 
and  so  am  I.  We  are  only  children  till  we  begin 
to  make  our  dreams  our  life.  So  I  am  one  with 
you,  for  only  now  do  I  step  from  dream  to  action. 
My  children,  you  shall  be  my  brothers,  and  to- 
gether we  will  sow  the  seed  of  action  and  reap 
the  grain  ;  we  will  make  a  happy  garden  of  flowers, 
and  violets  shall  bloom  everywhere  out  of  our 
dream, — everywhere.  Violets,  my  children,  pluck 
the  wild  violets,  and  bring  them  to  me,  and  I  will 
give  you  silver  for  them,  and  I  will  love  you. 
Never  forget,"  he  added  with  a  swelling  voice, 
"  that  you  owe  your  first  duty  to  your  mothers, 
and  afterward  to  your  country,  and  to  the  spirit 
of  France.  I  see  afar  " — he  looked  toward  the  set- 
ting sun,  and  stretched  out  his  arm  dramatically, 
yet  such  was  the  impressiveness  of  his  voice  and 
person  that  not  even  the  young  Seigneur  or  Medal- 
lion smiled, — "I  see  afar,"  he  repeated,  "  the  glory 
of  our  dreams  fulfilled,  after  toil,  and  struggle,  and 
loss  ;  and  I  call  upon  you  now  to  unfurl  the  white 
banner  of  justice,  and  liberty,  and  the  restoration  ! " 
The  good  women  who  listened  guessed  little  of 
what  he  meant  by  the  fantastic  sermon  ;  but  they 
wiped  their  eyes  in  sympathy,  and  gathered  their 
children  to  them,  and  said,  "Poor  gentleman, 
poor  gentleman  !  "  and  took  him  instantly  to  their 


20          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

hearts.  The  men  were  mystified,  but  wine  and 
rhetoric  had  fired  them,  and  they  cheered  him 
— no  one  knew  why.  The  Cure*,  as  he  turned  to 
leave,  with  Monsieur  Garon,  shook  his  head  in 
bewilderment ;  but  even  he  did  not  smile,  for  the 
man's  eloquence  had  impressed  him.  And  more 
than  once  he  looked  back  at  the  dispersing  crowd 
and  the  picturesque  figure  posing  on  the  veranda. 
The  avocat  was  thinking  deeply,  and  as  in  the 
dusk  he  left  the  Cure*  at  his  own  door,  all  that  he 
ventured  was:  "  Singular,  a  most  singular  person! " 

"  We  shall  see,  we  shall  see,"  said  the  Cure",  ab- 
stractedly, and  they  said  good-night.  Medallion 
joined  the  Little  Chemist  in  his  shop  door,  and 
watched  the  habitants  scatter,  till  only  Parpon 
and  the  stranger  were  left.  Presently  these  two 
faced  each  other,  and,  without  a  word,  passed  into 
the  hotel  together. 

"  H'm,  h'm,"  said  Medallion  into  space,  drum- 
ming the  door-jamb  with  his  fingers,  "  which  is  it, 
my  Parpon — a  dauphin,  or  a  fool  ?  " 

He  and  the  Little  Chemist  talked  long,  their 
eyes  upon  the  window  opposite,  inside  which  Mon- 
sieur Valmond  and  the  dwarf  were  talking.  Up 
the  dusty  street  wandered  fitfully  the  refrain  : 

"  To  a  gentleman  of  the  king, 
Vive  NapoUon  /  " 

And  once  they  dimly  saw  Monsieur  Valmond 
come  to  the  open  window  and  stretch  out  his  hand, 
as  if  in  greeting  to  the  song  and  the  singer. 


CHAPTER  II 

1  HIS  all  happened  on  a  Tuesday,  and  on 
Wednesday,  and  for  several  days,  Valmond  went 
about  making  friends.  It  was  easy  to  do  this,  for  his 
pockets  were  always  full  of  pennies  and  silverpieces, 
and  he  gave  them  liberally  to  the  children  and  to 
the  poor,  though,  indeed,  there  were  few  suffering 
poor  in  Pontiac.  All  had  food  enough  to  keep 
them  from  misery,  though  often  it  got  no  further 
than  sour  milk  and  bread,with  a  dash  of  sugar  in  it 
of  Sundays.  As  for  homes,  every  man  and  woman 
had  a  house  of  a  kind,  with  its  low  projecting  roof 
and  dormer  windows,  according  to  the  ability  and 
prosperity  of  the  owner.  These  houses  were  white- 
washed or  painted  white,  and  had  double  glass  in 
winter,  according  to  the  same  measure.  There 
was  no  question  of  warmth,  for  in  snowtime  every 
house  was  banked  up  with  earth  above  the  founda- 
tions, the  cracks  and  intersections  of  windows  and 
doors  were  filled  with  cloth  from  the  village  looms, 
and  wood  was  for  the  chopping  far  and  near. 
Within  these  air-tight  cubes  the  simple  folk  baked, 
and  were  happy,  content  if  now  and  then  the  house- 
wife opened  the  one  pane  of  glass  which  hung  on 
a  hinge,  or  the  slit  in  the  sash,  to  let  in  the  cold 
air.  The  occasional  opening  of  the  outer  door  to 


22          WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

admit  some  one,  as  a  rule,  sufficed,  for  out  rushed 
the  hot  blast,  and  in  came  the  dry  frosty  air  to 
brace  to  their  tasks  the  story-teller  and  singer. 

In  summer  the  little  fields  were  broken  with 
wooden  ploughs,  and  there  was  the  limb  of  a  tree 
for  harrow,  the  sickle  and  scythe  and  flail  to  do 
their  office  in  due  course  ;  and  if  the  man  were 
well-to-do,  he  swung  the  cradle  in  his  rye  and 
wheat,  rejoicing  in  the  sweep  of  the  knife  and  the 
fulness  of  the  swathe.  Then,  too,  there  was  the 
driving  of  the  rivers,  when  the  young  men  ran 
the  logs  from  the  backwoods  to  the  great  mills 
near  and  far :  red-shirted,  sashed,  knee-booted, 
with  rings  in  their  ears  and  wide  hats  on  their 
heads,  and  a  song  in  their  mouths,  breaking  a  jam, 
or  steering  a  crib  or  raft  down  the  rapids.  And 
the  voyageur  also,  who  brought  furs  out  of  the 
North  down  the  great  lakes,  came  home  again  to 
Pontiac,  singing  in  his  patois  : 

'*  Nous  avons  passe  le  bois^ 
Nous  somm's  a  la  rive  !  " 

Or,  as  he  went  forth  : 

'*  Le  dieu  du  jour  s'avance  ; 

Amis,  les  vents  sont  doux  ; 
Berces  par  Vesper  ance^ 

Parlons,  embarquons-nous 
A-a-a-a-a-a-a-a  ! " 

And,  as  we  know,  it  was  summer  when  Val- 
mond  came  to  Pontiac.  The  river-drivers  were 


WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC          23 

just  beginning  to  return,  and  by  and  by  the  flax 
swingeing  would  commence  in  the  little  secluded 
valley  by  the  river,  and  one  would  see  the  bright 
sickle  flashing  across  the  gold  and  green  area,  and 
all  the  pleasant  furniture  of  summer  set  forth  in 
pride  by  the  Mother  of  the  House  whom  we  call 
Nature. 

Valmond  was  alive  to  it  all,  almost  too  alive, 
for  at  first  the  flamboyancy  of  his  spirit  touched 
him  off  with  melodrama.  Yet,  on  the  whole,  he 
seemed  more  natural  than  involved  or  obscure. 
His  love  for  children  was  real,  his  politeness  to 
women  spontaneous.  He  was  seen  to  carry  the 
load  of  old  Madame  D^gardy  up  the  hill,  and 
place  it  at  her  own  door.  He  also  had  offered 
her  a  pinch  of  snuff,  which  she  acknowledged  by 
gravely  offering  a  pinch  of  her  own,  from  a  dirty 
twist  of  brown  paper. 

One  day  he  sprang  over  a  fence,  took  from  the 
hands  of  coquettish  filise  Malboir  an  axe,  and 
split  the  knot  which  she  in  vain  had  tried  to  break. 
Not  satisfied  with  this,  he  piled  full  of  wood  the 
stone  oven  outside  the  house,  and  carried  water 
for  her  from  the  spring.  This  came  from  natural 
kindness,  for  he  did  not  see  the  tempting  look  she 
gave  him,  nor  the  invitation  in  her  eye,  as  he 
turned  to  leave  her.  He  merely  asked  her  name. 
But  after  he  had  gone,  as  though  he  had  for- 
gotten, or  remembered,  something,  he  leaped  the 
fence  again,  came  up  to  her  with  an  air  of  half- 
abstraction»  half-courtesy,  took  both  her  hands  in 


24          WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

his,  and  before  she  could  recover  herself,  kissed 
her  on  the  cheeks  in  a  paternal  sort  of  way,  say- 
ing, "  Adieu,  my  child  !  "  and  left  her. 

The  act  had  condescension  in  it ;  yet,  too,  some- 
thing unconsciously  simple  and  primitive.  Parpon 
the  dwarf,  who  that  moment  perched  himself  on 
the  fence,  could  not  decide  which  Valmond  was 
just  then — dauphin,  or  fool. 

Valmond  did  not  see  the  little  man,  but  swung 
away  down  the  dusty  road,  reciting  to  himself 
couplets  from  Le  Vieux  Drapeau. 

**  Oh,  come  my  flag,  come  hope  of  mine, 
And  thou  shalt  dry  these  fruitless  tears  ;  " 

and  apparently  without  any  connection,  he  passed 
complacently  to  an  entirely  different  song  : 

'*  She  loved  to  laugh,  she  loved  to  drink, 
I  bought  her  jewels  fine." 

Then  he  added  with  a  suddenness  which  seemed 
to  astound  himself — for  afterwards  he  looked  round 
quickly,  as  if  to  see  if  he  had  been  heard — "  filise 
Malboir — h'm  !  a  pretty  name,  £lise  ;  but  Mal- 
boir — tush  !  it  should  be  Malbarre  ;  the  differ- 
ence between  Lombardy  cider  and  wine  of  the 
Empire." 

Parpon,  left  behind,  sat  on  the  fence  with  his 
legs  drawn  up  to  his  chin,  looking  at  filise,  till 
she  turned  and  caught  the  provoking  light  of  his 
eye.  She  flushed,  then  was  cool  again,  for  she 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          25 

was  put  upon  her  mettle  by  the  suggestion  of  his 
glance. 

"  Come,  lazy-bones,"  she  said,  "  come  fetch  me 
currants  from  the  garden." 

"Come,  mocking-bird,"  answered  he,  "come 
peck  me  on  the  cheek." 

She  tossed  her  head,  and  struck  straight  home. 
"  It  isn't  a  game  of  pass  it  on  from  gentleman  to 
beetle." 

"  You  think  he's  a  gentleman  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  As  sure  as  I  think  you're  a  beetle." 

He  laughed,  took  off  his  cap,  and  patted  himself 
on  the  head.  "  Parpon,  Parpon  !  "  said  he,  "  if 
Jean  Malboir  could  see  you  now,  he'd  put  his  foot 
on  you  and  crush  you — dirty  beetle  !  " 

At  the  mention  of  her  father's  name  a  change 
passed  over  filise,  for  this  same  Parpon,  when  all 
men  else  were  afraid,  had  saved  Jean  Malboir's 
life  at  a  log  chute  in  the  hills.  When  he  died, 
Parpon  was  nearer  to  him  than  the  priest,  and  he 
loved  to  hear  the  dwarf  chant  his  wild  rhythms  of 
the  Little  Good  Folk  of  the  Scarlet  Hills,  more 
than  to  listen  to  holy  prayers.  £lise,  who  had  a 
warm,  impulsive  nature,  in  keeping- with  her  black 
eyes  and  tossing  hair,  who  was  all  fire,  and  sun, 
and  heart,  and  temper,  ran  over  and  caught  the 
dwarf  round  the  neck,  and  kissed  him  on  the 
cheek,  dashing  the  tears  out  of  her  eyes,  as  she 
cried  : 

"  I'm  a  cat,  I'm  a  bad-tempered  thing,  Parpon  ; 
I  hate  myself." 


26          WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

He  laughed,  shook  his  shaggy  head,  and  pushed 
her  away  the  length  of  his  long,  strong  arms. 
"  Bosh  !  "  said  he,  "  you're  a  puss  and  no  cat,  and 
I  like  you  better  for  the  claws.  If  you  hate 
yourself,  you'll  get  a  big  penance.  Hate  the  ugly 
like  Parpon,  not  the  pretty  like  you.  The  one's 
no  sin,  the  other  is." 

11  Who  is  he,  Parpon  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  low  voice, 
not  looking  at  him. 

She  was  beside  the  open  door  of  the  oven  ;  and* 
it  would  be  hard  to  tell  whether  her  face  was  suffer- 
ing from   heat  or  from  blushes.     However  that 
might  chance,  her  mouth  was  soft  and  sweet,  and 
her  eyes  were  still  wet. 

"  Is  he  like  Duclosse  the  mealman,  or  Jose" 
Lajeunesse,  or  Garotte  the  limeburner,-^and  the 
rest  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  Is  he  like  the  Cure*,  or  Monsieur  De  la  Riviere, 
or  Monsieur  Garon,  or  Monsieur  Medallion  ?  " 

"  He's  different,"  she  said  hesitatingly. 

"  Better  or  worse  ?  " 

"  More — more  " —  she  didn't  know  what  to  say 
— "  more  interesting." 

"  Is  he  like  the  Judge  Honorable  that  come 
from  Montreal,  or  the  grand  Governor,  or  the 
General  that  travel  with  the  Governor  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  different — more — more  like  us  in 
some  things,  like  them  in  others,  and  more — 
splendid.  He  speaks  such  fine  things  !  You  mind 
the  other  night  at  the  Louis  Quinze.  He  is  like — " 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          27 

She  paused.  "  What  is  he  like  ?  "  Parpon  asked 
slyly,  enjoying  her  difficulty. 

"Ah,  I  know,"  she  answered;  "he  is  a  little 
like  Madame  the  American,  who  came  two  years 
ago.  There  is  something — something  ! " 

Parpon  laughed  again.  "  Like  Madame  Chalice 
from  New  York — fudge  !  "  Yet  he  eyed  her  as  if 
he  admired  her  penetration.  "  How  ?  "  he  urged. 

"I  don't  know — quite,"  she  answered  a  little 
pettishly.  "  But  I  used  to  see  Madame  go  off  in 
the  woods,  and  she  would  sit  hour  by  hour,  and 
listen  to  the  waterfall,  and  talk  to  the  birds,  and 
at  herself  too;  and  more  than  once  I  saw  her  shut 
her  hands — like  that !  You  remember  what  tiny 
hands  she  had  ?  "  (She  glanced  at  her  own  brown 
ones  unconsciously.)  "  And  she  spoke  out,  her 
eyes  running  with  tears — and  she  all  in  pretty 
silks,  and  a  color  like  a  rose.  She  spoke  out  like 
this :  *  Oh,  if  I  could  only  do  something,  something, 
some  big  thing !  What  is  all  this  silly  coming  and 
going  to  me,  when  I  know,  I  know  I  might  do  it, 
if  I  had  the  chance  !  O  Harry,  Harry,  can't  you 
understand,  and  help  me  ?  ' " 

"  Harry  was  her  husband.  Ah,  what  a  fisher- 
man was  he  !  "  said  Parpon,  nodding.  "  What  did 
she  mean  by  doing  '  big  things '  ?  " 

"  How  do  I  know  ?  "  asked  the  girl,  fretfully. 
"  But  Monsieur  Valmond  seems  to  me  like  her, 
just  the  same." 

"  Monsieur  Valmond  is  a  great  man,"  said  Par- 
pon, slowly. 


28          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

"  You  know,"  she  cried  eagerly  ;  "  you  know  ! 
Oh,  tell  me,  what  is  he  ?  Who  is  he  ?  Where 
does  he  come  from  ?  Why  is  he  here  ?  How  long 
will  he  stay  ?  Tell  me,  how  long  will  he  stay  ?  " 
She  caught  flutteringly  at  Parpon's  shoulder. 

"You  remember  what  I  sang  the  other  night  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  answered  quickly.  "  Oh,  how 
beautiful  it  was  !  Ah,  Parpon,  why  don't  you 
sing  for  us  oftener,  and  all  the  world  would  love 
you,  and " 

"I  don't  love  the  world,"  he  retorted  gruffly, 
"  and  I'll  sing  for  the  devil "  (she  crossed  herself) 
"  as  soon  as  for  silly  gossips  in  Pontiac." 

"Well,  well,  what  had  your  song  to  do  with 
him,  with  Monsieur  Valmond  ?  " 

"Think  hard,  my  dear,"  he  said,  with  mystery 
in  his  look.  "  Madame  Chalice  is  coming  back 
to-day ;  the  Manor  House  is  open,  and  you  should 
see  how  they  fly  round  up  there."  fee  nodded 
toward  the  hill  beyond. 

"  Pontiac  '11  be  a  fine  place  by  and  by,"  she  re- 
plied, for  she  had  village  patriotism  deep  in  her 
veins.  Had  not  her  people  lived  there  long  before 
the  conquest  by  the  English  ? 

"  But  tell  me,  tell  me  what  your  song  had  to  do 
with  Monsieur,"  she  urged  again.  "  It's  a  pretty 
song,  but " 

"Think  about  it,"  he  answered  provokingly. 
"  Adieu,  my  child,"  he  went  on,  mockingly,  using 
Valmond's  words,  and  catching  both  her  hands 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          29 

as  he  had  done ;  then  springing  upon  a  bench 
by  the  oven,  he  kissed  her  on  both  cheeks. 
"Adieu,  my  child,"  he  said  again,  and  jumping 
down,  trotted  out  into  the  road.  Back  to  her, 
from  the  dust  he  made  as  he  shuffled  away,  there 
came  the  words  : 

* '  Gold  and  silver  he  will  bring, 

Vive  le  roi,  la  reine  ! 
And  eke  the  daughter  of  a  king — 
Vive  Napoleon  !  " 

She  went  about  her  work,  the  song  in  her  ears, 
and  the  words  of  the  refrain  beat  in  and  out, 
out  and  in — "  Vive  Napoleon  / "  Her  brow  was 
troubled,  and  she  perched  her  head  on  this  side 
and  on  that,  as  she  tried  to  guess  what  the  dwarf 
had  meant.  At  last  she  sat  down  on  a  bench  at 
the  door  of  her  home,  and  the  summer  afternoon 
spent  its  glories  on  her,  for  the  sunflowers  and  the 
hollyhocks  were  round  her,  and  the  warmth  gave 
her  face  a  shining  health  and  joyousness.  There 
she  brooded  till  she  heard  the  voice  of  her  mother 
calling  across  the  meadow  near,  and  she  arose 
with  a  sigh,  softly  repeating  Parpon's  words, 
"  He  is  a  great  man." 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  she  started  up  from 
a  sound  sleep,  and,  with  a  little  cry,  whispered 
into  the  silence,  "  Napoleon — Napoleon  !  " 

She  was  thinking  of  V  almond.  A  revelation 
had  come  to  her  out  of  her  dreams.  But  she 
laughed  at  it,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  pillow 
and  went  to  sleep,  hoping  to  dream  again. 


CHAPTER   III 

IN  less  than  one  week  Valmond  was  as  out- 
standing from  Pontiac  as  Dalgrothe  Mountain, 
just  beyond  it  in  the  south.  His  liberality,  his 
jocundity,  his  occasional  abstraction,  his  medita- 
tive pose,  were  all  his  own  ;  his  humor  that  of  the 
people.  He  was  too  quick  in  repartee  and  drollery 
for  a  bourgeois,  too  "  near  to  the  bone  "  in  point,  for 
an  aristocrat,  with  his  dual  touch  of  the  comedian 
and  the  peasant.  Besides,  he  was  mysterious  and 
picturesque,  and  this  is  alluring  to  women  and  to 
the  humble,  if  not  to  all  the  world.  It  might  be 
his  was  the  comedian's  fascination,  but  the  flashes 
of  grotesqueness  rather  pleased  the  eye,  than  hurt 
the  taste  of  Pontiac. 

Only  in  one  quarter  was  there  hesitation,  added 
to  an  anxiety  almost  painful ;  for  to  doubt  or  dis- 
trust Monsieur  Valmond  would  have  shocked  the 
sense  of  courtesy  so  dear  to  Monsieur  the  Cure", 
Monsieur  Garon,  the  Little  Chemist,  and  even 
Medallion  the  auctioneer,  who  had  assimilated 
something  of  the  spirit  of  those  old-fashioned 
gentlemen  into  his  bluff,  odd  nature.  Monsieur 
De  la  Riviere,  the  young  Seigneur,  had  to  be 
reckoned  with  independently. 

It  was  their  custom  to  meet  once  a  week  at  the 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          3! 

house  of  one  or  another  for  a  causerie,  as  the  avo- 
cat  called  it.  On  the  Friday  evening  of  this  par- 
ticular week,  all  were  seated  in  the  front  garden 
of  the  Cure"s  house,  as  Valmond  came  over  the 
hill,  going  toward  the  Louis  Quinze.  His  step 
was  light,  his  head  laid  slightly  to  one  side,  as  if 
in  pleased  and  inquiring  revery,  and,  strangely 
enough,  there  was  a  lifting  of  one  corner  of  the 
mouth,  suggesting  a  gay  disdain.  Was  it  that 
disdain  which  comes  from  conquest  not  important 
enough  to  satisfy  ambition  ?  The  social  subjuga- 
tion of  a  village — to  be  conspicuous  and  attract 
the  groundlings  in  this  tiny  theatre  of  life  ! 

He  appeared  not  to  see  the  little  coterie,  but 
presently  turned,  when  just  opposite  the  gate, 
and,  raising  his  hat,  half  paused.  Then  without 
more  ado  he  opened  it,  and  advanced  to  the 
outstretched  hand  of  the  Cure",  who  greeted  him 
with  a  courtly  affability.  He  shook  hands  with, 
and  nodded  good-humoredly  at  Medallion  and 
the  Little  Chemist,  bowed  to  the  avocat,  and 
touched  off  his  greeting  to  Monsieur  De  la  Rivi- 
ere with  deliberation,  not  offering  his  hand — this 
very  reserve  a  sign  of  equality  not  lost  on  the 
young  Seigneur.  He  had  not  this  stranger  at  any 
particular  advantage,  as  he  had  wished,  he  knew 
scarcely  why.  Valmond  took  the  seat  offered 
him  beside  the  Cure",  who  remarked  presently  : 

"  My  dear  friend  Monsieur  Garon  was  saying 
just  now  that  the  spirit  of  France  has  ever  been 
the  captain  of  Freedom  among  the  nations." 


32          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

Valmond  glanced  quickly  from  the  Cure"  to  the 
others,  a  swift,  inquisitive  look,  then  settled  back 
in  his  chair,  and  turned,  bowing,  towards  Mon- 
sieur Garon.  The  avocat's  pale  face  flushed,  his 
long,  thin  fingers  twined  round  each  other  and 
untwined,  and  he  spoke  in  a  little  chirping  voice, 
so  quaint  as  to  be  almost  unreal : 

"  I  was  saying  that  the  spirit  of  France  lived 
always  ahead  of  the  time,  was  ever  first  to  con- 
ceive the  feeling  of  the  coming  century,  and  by 
its  own  struggles  and  sufferings — sometimes  too 
abrupt  and  perilous — made  easy  the  way  for  the 
rest  of  the  world." 

During  these  words  a  change  passed  over  Val- 
mond. His  restless  body  became  still,  his  mobile 
face  steady  and  almost  set  ;  all  the  life  of  him 
seemed  to  have  burnt  into  his  eyes  ;  but  he  an- 
swered nothing,  and  the  Cure"  in  the  pause  was 
constrained  to  say : 

"Our  dear  Monsieur  Garon  knows  perfectly  the 
history  of  France,  and  is  devoted  to  the  study  of 
the  Napoleonic  times  and  of  the  Great  Revolu- 
tion— alas  for  our  people  and  the  saints  of  Holy 
Church  who  perished  then  ! " 

The  avocat  lifted  a  hand  in  mute  disacknowledg- 
ment.  Again  there  was  a  silence,  and  out  of  the 
pause  Monsieur  De  la  Riviere's  voice  was  heard  : 

"  Monsieur  Valmond,  how  fares  this  spirit  of 
France  now  ? — you  come  from  France,  eh  ?  " 

There  was  a  shadow  of  condescension  and 
ulterior  meaning  in  De  la  Riviere's  voice,  for  he 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          33 

had  caught  the  tricks  of  the  poseur  in  their  singu- 
lar guest. 

Valmond  did  not  stir,  but  looked  steadily  at 
De  la  Riviere,  and  said  slowly,  dramatically,  yet 
with  a  strange  genuineness  also : 

"  The  spirit  of  France,  monsieur,  the  spirit  of 
France,  looks  not  forward  only,  but  backward,  for 
her  inspiration.  It  is  as  ready  for  action  now  as 
when  the  old  order  was  dragged  from  Versailles 
to  Paris,  and  in  Paris  to  the  guillotine  ;  when 
France  got  a  principle  and  waited,  waited " 

He  did  not  finish  his  sentence,  but  threw  back 
his  head  with  a  sort  of  reflective  laugh. 

"  Waited  for  what  ?  "  asked  the  young  Seigneur, 
trying  to  conquer  his  dislike. 

"For  the  Man,"  came  the  quick  reply. 

The  avocat  rubbed  his  hands  in  pleasure.  He 
instantly  divined  one  who  knew  his  subject, 
though  he  talked  thus  melodramatically  :  a  thing 
not  uncommon  among  the  habitants  and  the  pro- 
fessional story-tellers,  but  scarcely  the  way  of  the 
coterie. 

"Ah,  yes,  yes,"  he  said,  "for — ?  monsieur, 
for — ?"  He  paused,  as  if  to  give  himself  the 
delight  of  hearing  their  visitor  speak. 

"For  Napoleon,"  was  the  abrupt  reply. 

"  Ah,  yes,  dear  Lord,  yes — a  Napoleon — of — of 
the  First  Empire.  France  can  only  cherish  an 
idea  when  a  man  is  behind  it,  when  a  man  lives 
it,  embodies  it.  She  must  have  heroes.  She  is  a 
poet,  a  poet — and  an  actress." 
3 


34         WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

"So  said  the  Man,  Napoleon,"  cried  Valmond, 
getting  to  his  feet.  "  He  said  that  to  Barras,  to 
Re'musat,  to  Josephine,  to  Lucien,  to — to  another, 
when  France  had  for  the  moment  lost  both  her 
idea  and  her  man." 

The  avocat  trembled  to  his  feet  to  meet  Val- 
mond, who  stood  up  as  he  spoke,  his  face  shining 
with  enthusiasm,  a  hand  raised  in  broad  dramatic 
gesture,  a  dignity  come  upon  him,  in  marked  con- 
trast to  the  inconsequent  figure  which  had  dis- 
ported itself  through  the  village  during  the  past 
week.  The  avocat  had  found  a  man  after  his  own 
heart.  He  knew  that  Valmond  understood  whereof 
he  spoke.  It  was  as  if  an  artist  saw  a  young  gen- 
ius use  a  brush  on  canvas  for  a  moment ;  a  swords- 
man watch  an  unknown  master  of  the  sword.  It 
was  not  so  much  the  immediate  act,  as  the  divina- 
tion, the  rapport,  the  spirit  behind  the  act,  which 
could  only  come  from  the  soul  of  the  real  thing. 

"  I  thank  you,  monsieur  ;  I  thank  you  with  all 
my  heart,"  the  avocat  said.  "  It  is  the  true  word 
you  have  spoken." 

Here  a  lad  came  running  to  fetch  the  Little 
Chemist,  and  Medallion  and  he  departed,  but  not 
without  the  auctioneer  having  pressed  Valmond's 
hand  warmly,  for  he  was  quick  of  emotion,  and, 
like  the  avocat,  he  recognized,  as  he  thought,  the 
true  word  behind  the  dramatic  trappings. 

Monsieur  Garon  and  Valmond  talked  on,  eager, 
responsive,  Valmond  lost  in  the  discussion  of 
Napoleon  ;  Garon  in  the  man  before  him.  By 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          35 

many  pregnant  allusions,  by  a  map  drawn  hastily 
on  the  ground  here,  and  an  explosion  of  secret 
history  there,  did  Valmond  win  to  a  sort  of  wor- 
ship this  fine  little  Napoleonic  scholar,  who  had 
devoured  every  book  on  his  hero  which  had  come 
in  his  way  since  boyhood.  Student  as  he  was,  he 
had  met  a  man  whose  knowledge  of  the  Napo- 
leonic life  was  vastly  more  intricate,  searching, 
and  vital  than  his  own.  He,  Monsieur  Garon, 
spoke  as  from  a  book  or  out  of  a  library,  but  this 
man  as  from  the  Invalides,  or,  since  that  is  anach- 
ronistic, from  the  lonely  rock  of  St.  Helena.  A 
private  saying  of  Napoleon's,  a  word  from  his  let- 
ters and  biography,  a  phrase  out  of  his  speeches 
to  his  soldiers,  sent  tears  to  the  avocat's  eyes,  and 
for  a  moment  transformed  Valmond. 

While  they  talked,  the  Cure*  and  the  young 
Seigneur  listened,  and  there  passed  into  their 
minds  the  same  wonder  that  had  perplexed  filise 
Malboir  ;  so  that  they  were  troubled,  as  was  she, 
each  after  his  own  manner  and  temperament. 
Their  reasoning,  their  feelings,  were  different,  but 
they  were  coming  to  the  point  the  girl  had  reached 
when  she  cried  into  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
"  Napoleon  !  Napoleon  !  " 

They  sat  forgetful  of  the  passing  of  time,  the 
Curg  preening  with  pleasure  because  of  Valmond's 
remarks  upon  the  Church,  when  quoting  the  First 
Napoleon's  praise  of  religion. 

Suddenly  a  carriage  came  dashing  up  the  hill 
with  four  horses  and  a  postilion.  The  avocat  was 


36          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

in  the  house  searching  for  a  book,  but  De  la  Rivi- 
ere, seeing  the  carnage,  got  to  his  feet  with  in- 
stant excitement,  and  the  others  turned  to  look. 
As  it  neared  the  house,  the  Cure*  took  off  his  beretta 
and  smiled  complacently,  a  little  red  spot  burning 
on  both  cheeks.  These  deepened  as  the  carriage 
stopped,  and  a  lady,  a  little  lady  like  a  golden 
flower,  with  sunny  eyes  and  face — how  did  she 
keep  so  fresh  in  their  dusty  roads  ? — stood  up  im- 
pulsively, and  before  any  one  could  reach  the  gate 
to  assist  her  entered,  her  blue  eyes  swimming 
with  the  warmth  of  a  kind  heart — or  a  warm  tem- 
perament, which  may  exist  without  a  kind  heart. 

Was  it  the  heart  or  the  temperament,  or  both, 
that  sent  her  forward  with  hands  outstretched, 
saying : 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  dear  Cure",  how  glad  I  am  to  see 
you  once  again  !  It  has  been  two  years  too  long, 
dear  Cure"." 

She  held  his  hand  in  both  of  hers,  and  looked 
up  into  his  eyes  with  a  smile  at  once  childlike  and 
naive — and  masterful ;  for  behind  the  simplicity 
and  the  girlish  manner  there  was  a  power,  a 
mind,  with  which  this  sweet  golden  hair  and 
cheeks  like  a  rose  garden  had  nothing  to  do. 
The  Cure",  beaming,  touched  by  her  warmth,  and 
by  her  tiny  caressing  fingers,  stooped  and  kissed 
them  like  an  old  courtier.  He  had  come  of  a 
good  family  in  France  long  ago, — very  long  ago, 
— and  even  in  this  French-Canadian  village  where 
he  had  taught,  and  served,  and  lingered  forty 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          37 


years,  he  had  kept  some  graces  of  his  youth,  and 
this  beautiful  woman  drew  them  out.  Since  he 
came  to  Pontiac  he  had  never  kissed  a  woman's 
hand — women  had  kissed  his;  and  this  woman 
was  a  Protestant,  like  Medallion  ! 

Turning  from  the  Cure*,  she  held  out  a  hand  to 
the  young  Seigneur  with  a  little  casual  air,  as  if 
she  had  but  seen  him  yesterday,  and  said  :  "  Mon- 
sieur De  la  Riviere— what,  still  buried  ?— and  the 
world  waiting  for  the  great  touch !  But  we  in 
Pontiac  gain  what  the  world  loses." 

She  turned  to  the  Cure*  again,  placing  a  hand 
upon  his  arm : 

"  I  could  not  pass  without  stepping  in  upon  my 
dear  old  friend,  even  though  soiled  and  unpre- 
sentable. But  you  forgive  that,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Madame  is  always  welcome,  and  always — 
unspotted  of  the  dusty  world,"  he  answered  gal- 
lantly. 

She  caught  his  fingers  in  hers  as  might  a  child, 
turned  full  upon  Valmond,  and  waited.  The  Cure" 
instantly  presented  him  to  her.  She  looked  at 
him  brightly,  alluringly,  apparently  so  simply  ; 
yet  her  first  act  showed  the  perception  behind  that 
rosy  and  golden  face,  and  the  demure  eyes  whose 
lids  languished  now  and  then — to  the  unknowing 
with  an  air  of  coquetry,  to  the  knowing  (did  any 
know  her  ?)  as  one  would  shade  one's  eyes  to  see 
a  landscape  clearly,  or  make  out  a  distant  figure. 
As  Valmond  bowed,  a  thought  seemed  to  fetch 
down  the  pink  eyelids,  and  she  stretched  out  her 


38          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

hand,  which  he  took  and  kissed,  while  she  said 
in  English,  though  they  had  been  talking  in 
French  : 

"  A  traveller  too,  like  myself,  Monsieur  Val- 
mond  ?  But  Pontiac — why  Pontiac  ?  " 

Furtive  inquiry  shot  from  the  eyes  of  the  young 
Seigneur,  a  puzzled  glance  from  the  Curb's,  as 
they  watched  Valmond  ;  for  they  did  not  know  that 
he  had  knowledge  of  English  ;  he  had  not  spoken 
it  to  Medallion,  who  always  sent  into  his  talk  sev- 
eral English  words. 

How  did  this  woman  divine  it  ? 

A  strange  look  flashed  into  Valmond's  face,  but 
it  was  gone  on  the  instant,  and  he  replied  quickly  : 

"  Yes,  madame,  a  traveller  ;  and  for  Pontiac, 
there  is  as  much  earth  and  sky  about  it  as  about 
Paris,  or  London,  or  New  York." 

"  But  people  count,  Monsieur — Valmond." 

She  hesitated  before  the  name  as  if  trying  to  re- 
member it,  though  she  recalled  it  perfectly;  it  was 
her  tiny  fashion  to  pique,  appear  unknowing. 

"  Truly,  Madame  Chalice,"  he  answered  instant- 
ly, for  he  did  not  yield  to  a  like  temptation  ;  "  but 
the  few  are  as  important  to  us  as  the  many  some- 
times— eh  ?  " 

She  almost  started  at  the  eh,  for  it  broke  in 
grimly  upon  the  gentlemanly  flavor  of  his  speech. 

"  If  my  reasons  for  coming  were  only  as  good 
as  madame's — "  he  added. 

"  Who  knows  ?  "  she  said,  with  her  eye  resting 
idly  on  his  flowered  waistcoat,  and  dropping  to 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          39 

the  incongruous  enamelled  knee-boots  with  their 
red  tassels.  She  turned  to  the  Cur£  again,  but 
not  till  Valmond  had  added  : 

"  Or  the  same — who  knows  ?  " 

Again  she  looked  at  him  with  drooping  eyelids, 
and  a  slight  smile  so  full  of  acid  possibilities  that 
De  la  Riviere  drew  in  a  sibilant  breath  of  delight. 
Her  movement  had  been  as  towards  an  imperti- 
nence ;  but  as  she  caught  Valmond's  eye,  some- 
thing in  it  so  really  boy-like,  earnest,  and  free 
from  insolence  met  hers,  that,  with  a  little  way  she 
had,  she  laid  back  her  head  slowly,  her  lips  parted 
anew,  in  a  sweet,  ambiguous  smile,  her  glance 
dwelt  on  him  with  a  humorous  interest,  or  flash  of 
purpose,  and  she  said  softly  : 

"  Nobody  knows — eh  ?  " 

She  could  not  resist  the  delicate  malice  of  the 
exclamation,  she  imitated  the  gaucherie  so  de- 
lightfully. Valmond  did  not  fail  to  see  her  mean- 
ing, but  he  was  too  wise  to  show  it. 

He  hardly  knew  how  it  was  he  had  answered 
her  unhesitatingly  in  English,  for  it  had  been  his 
purpose  to  avoid  speaking  English  in  Pontiac. 

Presently  Madame  Chalice  caught  sight  of  Mon- 
sieur Garon  coming  from  the  house.  When  he 
saw  her  he  stopped  short  in  delighted  surprise. 
Gathering  up  her  skirts,  she  ran  to  him,  put  both 
hands  on  his  shoulders,  and  kissed  him  on  the 
cheek. 

"  Monsieur  Garon,  Monsieur  Garon,  my  good 
avocat,  my  Solon,  are  the  coffee,  and  the  history, 


40          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

and  the  blest  Madeira  still  chez-toi  f  "  she  asked 
gayly. 

There  was  no  jealousy  in  the  Cure" ;  he  smiled 
at  the  scene  with  great  benevolence,  for  he  was 
as  a  brother  to  Monsieur  Garon.  If  he  had  any 
good  thing,  it  was  his  first  wish  to  share  it  with 
him,  even  to  taking  him  miles  away  to  some  sim- 
ple home  where  a  happy  thing  had  come  to  poor 
folk — the  return  of  a  prodigal  son,  a  daughter's 
fortunate  marriage,  or  the  birth  of  a  child  to  child- 
less people  ;  and  there  together  they  exchanged 
pinches  of  snuff  over  the  event,  and  made  compli- 
ments from  the  same  mould,  nor  desired  difference 
of  pattern.  To  the  pretty  lady's  words,  Monsieur 
Garon  blushed,  and  his  thin  hand  fluttered  to  his 
lips.  As  if  in  sympathy  the  Curb's  fingers  trem- 
bled to  his  cassock  cord. 

"  Madame,  dear  madame  " — the  Cure*  approved 
by  a  caressing  nod — "  we  are  all  the  same  here 
in  our  hearts  and  in  our  homes,  and  if  anything 
be  good  in  them  it  is  because  you  are  pleased. 
You  bring  sunshine  and  relish  to  our  lives,  dear 
madame." 

The  Cure*  beamed.  This  was  after  his  own 
heart,  and  he  had  ever  said  that  his  dear  avocat 
would  have  been  a  brilliant  orator,  were  it  not  for 
his  retiring  spirit.  For  himself,  he  was  no  speaker 
at  all ;  he  could  only  do  his  duty  and  love  his 
people.  So  he  had  declared  over  and  over 
again,  and  the  look  in  his  eyes  said  the  same 
now. 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          41 

Madame's  eyes  were  shining  with  tears.  This 
admiration  of  her  was  too  real  to  be  doubted. 

"  And  yet,  and  yet — "  she  said,  with  a  hand  in 
the  Curb's  and  the  avocat's,  drawing  them  near 
her,  "  a  heretic,  my  dear  friends  !  How  should  I 
stand  in  your  hearts  if  I  were  only  of  your  faith  ? 
Or  is  it  that  you  yearn  over  the  lost  sheep  more 
than  over  the  ninety  and  nine  of  the  fold  ?  " 

There  was  a  real  moisture  in  her  eyes,  and  in 
her  own  heart  she  wondered,  this  fresh  and 
venturing  spirit,  if  she  cared  for  them  as  they 
seemed  to  care  for  her — for  she  felt  she  had  an 
inherent  strain  of  the  actress  temperament,  while 
these  honest  provincials  were  wholly  real. 

But  if  she  made  them  happy  by  her  gayety, 
what  matter  ?  And  so  the  tears  dried  as  she 
flashed  a  malicious  look  at  the  young  Seigneur, 
as  though  to  say  :  "  You  had  your  chance,  and  you 
made  nothing  of  it,  and  these  simple  gentlemen 
have  done  the  gracious  thing." 

Perhaps  it  was  a  liberal  interpretation  of  his 
creed  which  prompted  the  Cure*  to  add  with  a 
quaint  smile : 

"  '  Thou  art  not  far  from  the  Kingdom/  my 
daughter." 

The  avocat,  who  had  no  vanity,  hastened  to  add 
to  his  former  remarks,  as  if  he  had  been  guilty  of 
an  oversight : 

"Dear  madame,  you  have  flattered  my  poor 
gleanings  in  history  ;  I  am  happy  to  tell  you  that 
there  is  here  another  and  a  better  pilot  in  that  sea. 


42          WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

It  is  Monsieur  Valmond,"  he  added,  his  voice 
chirruping  in  his  pleasure.  "  For  Napoleon " 

"  Ah,  Napoleon,  yes,  Napoleon  ? "  she  said, 
turning  to  Valmond  with  a  look  half  of  interest, 
half  of  incredulity. 

" — For  Napoleon  is,  through  him,  a  revelation," 
the  avocat  went  on.  "  He  fills  in  the  vague  spaces, 
clears  up  mysteries  of  incident,  and  gives,  instead, 
mystery  of  character." 

"Indeed,"  she  added,  still  incredulous,  but 
interested  in  this  bizarre  figure  who  had  so 
worked  upon  her  old  friend ;  interested  because 
she  had  a  keen  scent  for  mystery,  and  instinctively 
felt  it  here  before  her.  Like  De  la  Riviere,  she 
perceived  a  strange  combination  of  the  gentleman 
and — something  else  ;  but,  unlike  him,  she  saw 
also  a  light  in  the  face  and  eyes  that  might  be 
genius,  poetry,  adventure.  For  the  incongruities, 
what  did  they  matter  to  her  ?  She  wished  to 
probe  life,  to  live  it,  to  race  the  whole  gamut  of 
inquiry,  experience,  follies,  loves,  and  sacrifices, 
to  squeeze  the  orange  dry,  and  then  to  die  while 
yet  young,  having  gone  the  full  compass,  the 
needle  pointing  home.  She  was  as  broad  as 
sumptuous  in  her  nature  ;  so  what  did  a  gauche- 
rie  matter,  or  this  dash  of  the  Oriental  in  a  citizen 
of  the  Occident? 

"  Then  we  must  set  the  centuries  right,  and  so 
on — if  you  will  come  to  see  me  when  I  am  settled 
at  the  Manor,"  she  said  to  Valmond.  He  bowed, 
expressed  his  pleasure  a  little  oracularly,  and  was 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          43 

about  to  say  something  else,  but  she  turned  deftly 
to  De  la  Riviere,  with  a  sweetness  which  made  up 
for  her  previous  irony  to  him,  and  said  : 

"You,  my  excellent  Seigneur,  will  come  to 
breakfast  with  me  one  day  ?  My  husband  will 
be  here  soon.  When  you  see  our  flag  flying,  you 
witt-  firrcf  the  table  always  laid  for  four." 

Then  to  the  Cure*  and  the  avocat :  "  You  shall 
visit  me  whenever  you  will,  and  you  are  to  wait 
for  nothing,  or  I  shall  come  to  fetch  you.  I 
am  so  glad  to  see  you.  And  now,  dear  Cure", 
will  you  take  me  to  my  carriage  ?  " 

A  surf  of  dust  rising  back  of  the  carriage  soon 
hid  her  from  view ;  but  four  men,  left  behind  in 
the  little  garden,  stood  watching,  as  if  they  ex- 
pected to  see  a  vision  in  rose  and  gold  rise  from  it ; 
and  each  was  smiling  unconsciously. 


CHAPTER  IV 

OlNCE  Friday  night  the  good  Curd,  in  his  calm, 
philosophical  way,  had  brooded  much  over  the 
talk  in  the  garden  upon  France,  the  Revolution, 
and  Napoleon.  As  a  rule,  his  sermons  were  com- 
monplace almost  to  a  classical  simplicity,  but 
there  were  times  when,  moved  by  some  new 
theme,  he  talked  to  the  villagers  as  if  they,  like 
himself,  were  learned  and  wise. 

His  thoughts  reverted  to  his  old  life  in  France, 
to  the  two  Napoleons  that  he  had  seen,  and  the 
time  when,  at  Neuilly,  a  famous  general  burst  into 
his  father's  house,  and  with  streaming  tears  cried  : 

"He  is  dead — he  is  dead — at  St.  Helena — Napo- 
leon !  Oh,  Napoleon  ! " 

A  chapter  of  Isaiah  came  to  the  Curb's  mind. 
He  brought  out  his  Bible  from  the  house,  and 
walking  up  and  down  read  aloud  certain  pas- 
sages. They  kept  ringing  in  his  ears  all  day  : 

"  He  will  surely  violently  turn  and  toss  thee 
like  a  ball  into  a  large  country  :  there  shalt  thou 
die,  and  there  the  chariots  of  thy  glory  shall  be 
the  shame  of  thy  lord's  house.  .  .  . 

"  And  it  shall  come  to  pass  in  that  day,  that  I 
will  call  my  servant  Eliakim  son  of  Hilkiah  : 

"  And  I  will  clothe  him  with  thy  robet  and 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          45 

strengthen  him  with  thy  girdle,  and  I  will  com- 
mit thy  government  into  his  hand.  .  .  . 

"  And  I  will  fasten  him  as  a  nail  in  a  sure 
place  ;  and  he  shall  be  for  a  glorious  throne  to 
his  father's  house. 

"  And  they  shall  hang  upon  him  all  the  glory 
of  his  father's  house,  the  offspring  and  the 
issue.  .  .  ." 

His  face  shone  with  a  gentle  benignity,  as  he 
quoted  these  verses  in  the  pulpit  on  Sunday  morn- 
ing, with  a  half  smile,  as  of  pleased  meditation. 
He  was  lost  to  the  people  before  him,  and  when 
he  began  to  speak,  it  was  as  in  soliloquy.  He  was 
talking  to  a  vague  audience,  into  that  space  where 
a  man's  eyes  look  when  he  is  searching  his  own 
mind,  discovering  it  to  himself. 

The  instability  of  earthly  power,  the  putting 
down  of  the  great,  their  exile  and  chastening,  and 
their  restoration  in  their  own  persons,  or  in  the 
persons  of  their  descendants — was  his  subject.  He 
brought  the  application  down  to  their  own  rude, 
simple  life,  then  returned  with  it  to  a  higher  plane. 

At  last,  as  if  the  memories  of  France  "  beloved 
and  incomparable  "  overcame  him,  he  dwelt  upon 
the  bitter  glory  of  the  Revolution.  Then,  with  a 
sudden  flush,  he  spoke  of  Napoleon.  At  that  name 
the  church  became  still,  and  the  dullest  habitant 
listened  intently.  Napoleon  was  in  the  air — a 
curious  sequence  to  the  song  that  was  sung  on 
the  night  of  Valmond's  arrival,  when  a  phrase 
was  put  in  the  mouths  of  the  parish,  which  gave 


46          WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

birth  to  a  personal  reality.  "  Vive  Napoleon  ! " 
had  been  on  every  lip  this  week,  and  it  was  an 
easy  step  from  a  phrase  to  a  man. 

The  Cure*  spoke  with  pensive  dignity  of  Napo- 
leon's past  career,  his  work  for  France,  his  too 
proud  ambition,  behind  which  was  his  great  love 
of  country,  and  how,  for  chastening,  God  turned 
upon  him  violently  and  tossed  him  like  a  ball  into 
the  wide  land  of  exile,  from  which  he  came  out  no 
more. 

"  But,"  continued  the  calm  voice,  "liis  spirit, 
stripped  of  the  rubbish  of  this  quarrelsome  world, 
and  freed  from  the  spite  of  foes,  comes  out  from 
exile  and  lives  in  our  France  to-day — for  she  is 
still  ours,  though  we  find  peace,  and  bread  to  eat, 
under  another  flag.  And  in  these  troubled  times, 
when  France  needs  a  man,  even  as  a  barren 
woman  a  child  to  be  the  token  of  her  woman- 
hood, it  may  be  that  one  sprung  from  the  loins 
of  the  great  Napoleon  may  again  give  life  to 
the  principle  which  some  have  sought  to  make 
into  a  legend.  Even  as  the  great  deliverer  came 
out  of  obscure  Corsica,  so  from  some  outpost 
of  France,  where  the  old  watchwords  still  are 
called,  may  rise  another  Napoleon,  whose  mis- 
sion will  be  civic  glory  and  peace  alone,  the 
champion  of  the  spirit  of  France,  defending  it 
against  the  unjust.  He  shall  be  fastened  as  a 
nail  in  a  sure  place,  as  a  glorious  throne  to  his 
father's  house." 

He  leaned  over  the  pulpit,  and,  pausing,  looked 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO   PONTIAC          47 

down  at  his  congregation.  Then,  all  at  once,  he 
was  aware  that  he  had  created  a  profound  impres- 
sion. Just  in  front  of  him,  his  eyes  burning  with 
a  strange  fire,  sat  Monsieur  Valmond.  Parpon, 
beside  him,  hung  over  the  back  of  a  seat,  his  long 
arms  stretched  out,  his  hands  applauding  in  a 
soundless  way.  Beneath  the  sword  of  Louis  the 
Martyr,  the  great  treasure  of  the  parish,  presented 
to  this  church  by  Marie  Antoinette,  sat  the  avo- 
cat,  his  thin  fingers  pressed  to  his  mouth  as  if  to 
stop  a  sound,  bright  spots  of  excitement  burning 
on  his  cheeks.  Presently,  out  of  pure  spontaneity, 
there  ran  through  the  church  like  a  soft  chorus : 

"  Oh,  say,  where  goes  your  love? 

O  gai,  vive  le  roi  / 
He  wears  a  silver  sword, 
Vive  Napotion  !  " 

The  thing  was  unprecedented.  Who  had  started 
it  ?  Afterwards  some  said  it  was  Parpon,  the  now 
chosen  comrade — or  servant — of  Valmond,  who, 
people  said,  had  given  himself  up  to  the  stranger, 
body  and  soul ;  but  no  one  could  swear  to  that. 
Shocked,  and  taken  out  of  his  dream,  the  Cure" 
raised  his  haild  against  the  song.  "  Hush,  hush, 
my  children,"  he  said.  "  Hush,  I  command  you." 

It  was  the  sight  of  the  upraised  hands,  more 
than  the  Curb's  voice,  which  stilled  the  outburst. 
Those  same  hands  had  sprinkled  the  holy  water 
in  the  sacrament  of  baptism,  had  blessed  man  and 
maid  at  the  altar,  had  quieted  the  angry  arm 


48          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

lifted  to  strike,  had  anointed  the  brow  of  the 
dying,  and  laid  a  crucifix  on  breasts  which  had 
ceased  to  harbor  breath,  and  care,  and  love,  and 
all  things  else. 

Silence  fell.  In  another  moment  the  sermon 
was  finished,  but  not  till  his  eyes  had  again  met 
those  of  Valmond,  and  there  had  passed  into  his 
mind  a  sudden,  startling  thought.  Unconsciously 
the  Cure"  had  declared  himself  the  patron  of  all 
that  made  Pontiac  forever  a  notable  spot  in  the 
eyes  of  three  nations  ;  and  if  he  repented  of  it,  no 
man  ever  knew. 

During  mass  and  the  sermon  Valmond  had  sat 
very  still,  once  or  twice  smiling  curiously  at 
thought  of  how,  inactive  himself,  the  gate  of  des- 
tiny was  being  opened  up  for  him.  Yet  he  had 
not  been  all  inactive.  He  had  paid  much  atten- 
tion to  his  toilet,  selecting,  with  purpose,  the  white 
waistcoat,  the  long,  blue-gray  coat  cut  in  a  fash- 
ion anterior  to  this  time  by  thirty  years  or  more, 
and  particularly  to  the  arrangement  of  his  hair. 
He  resembled  Napoleon — not  the  later  Napoleon, 
but  the  Bonaparte  who  fought  at  Marengo,  lean, 
shy,  laconic  ;  and  this  had  startled  the  Cure*  in  his 
pulpit,  and  the  rest  of  the  little  coterie. 

But  Madame  Chalice,  sitting  not  far  from  filise 
Malboir,  had  seen  the  resemblance  in  the  Cure"s 
garden  on  Friday  evening  ;  and  though  she  had 
laughed  at  it, — for,  indeed,  the  matter  was  ludi- 
crous enough  at  first, — the  impression  had  re- 
mained. 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          49 

She  was  no  Catholic,  she  did  not  as  a  rule  care 
for  religious  services,  but  there  was  interest  in  the 
air,  she  was  restless,  the  morning  was  inviting,  she 
was  reverent  of  all  true  expression  of  life  and  feel- 
ing, though  a  sad  mocker  in  much  ;  and  so  she 
had  come  to  the  little  church. 

Following  Elise's  intent  look,  she  read  with 
amusement  the  girl's  budding  romance,  and  was 
then  suddenly  arrested  by  the  head  of  Valmond, 
now  half  turned  towards  her.  It  had,  indeed,  a 
look  of  the  First  Napoleon.  Was  it  the  hair  ?  Yes, 
it  must  be ;  but  the  head  was  not  so  square,  so  firm- 
set,  and  what  a  world  of  difference  in  the  grand 
effect !  The  one  had  been  distant,  splendid,  brood- 
ing (so  she  glorified  him) ;  the  other  was  an  im- 
pressionist imitation,  with  dash,  form,  poetry,  and 
color.  But  the  great  strength  ?  It  was  lacking. 
The  close  association  of  Parpon  and  Valmond — 
that  was  droll ;  yet,  too,  it  had  a  sort  of  fitness,  she 
knew  scarcely  why.  However,  it  proved  that  mon- 
sieur was  not  a  fool,  in  the  vulgar  sense,  for  he  had 
made  a  friend  of  a  little  creature  who  could  be 
a  wasp  or  a  humming-bird,  as  he  pleased.  Then, 
too,  the  stranger  had  conquered  her  dear  avocat ; 
had  won  the  hearts  of  the  mothers  and  daughters — 
her  own  servants  talked  of  no  one  else  ;  had  cap- 
tured this  pretty  £lise  Malboir  ;  had  made  the 
young  men  imitate  his  walk  and  retail  his  sayings  ; 
had  won  from  herself  an  invitation  to  visit  her ; 
and  now,  making  an  unconscious  herald  and 
champion  of  an  innocent  old  Cure',  had  set  a  whole 
4 


50          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

congregation  singing  "  Vive  Napoleon "  after 
mass. 

Napoleon  ?  She  threw  back  her  pretty  head, 
laughed  softly,  and  fanned  herself.  Napoleon  ? 
Why,  of  course,  there  could  be  no  real  connec- 
tion ;  the  man  was  an  impostor,  a  base  impostor, 
playing  upon  the  credulities  of  a  secluded  village. 
Absurd — and  interesting  !  So  interesting,  she  did 
not  resent  the  attention  given  to  Valmond,  to  the 
exclusion  of  herself;  though,  to  speak  truly,  her 
vanity  desired  not  admiration  more  than  is  in- 
herent in  the  race  of  women,  whose  way  to  power, 
through  centuries,  has  been  personal  influence. 

Yet  she  was  very  dainty  this  morning,  good  to 
look  at,  and  refreshing,  with  everything  in  flower- 
like  accord  ;  simple  in  general  effect,  though  with 
touches  of  the  dramatic  here  and  there — in  the 
little  black  patch  on  the  delicate  health  of  her 
cheek,  in  the  seductive  arrangements  of  her  laces. 
She  loved  dress,  all  the  vanities,  but  she  had  some- 
thing that  rose  above  them — an  imaginative  mind, 
certain  of  whose  faculties  had  been  sharpened  to  a 
fine  edge  of  cleverness  and  wit.  For  she  was  but 
twenty-three,  with  the  logic  of  a  woman  of  fifty, 
without  its  setness  and  lack  of  elasticity.  She 
went  straight  for  the  hearts  of  things,  while  yet 
glittering  upon  the  surface. 

This  was  why  Valmond  interested  her — not  as  a 
man,  a  physical  personality,  but  as  a  mystery  to  be 
probed,  discovered.  Sentiment  ?  Coquetry  ?  Not 
with  him.  That  for  less  interesting  men,  she  said. 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          51 

Why  should  a  point  or  two  of  dress  and  manners 
affect  her  unpleasantly  ?  She  ought  to  be  just,  to 
remember  that  there  was  a  touch  of  the  fantastic, 
of  the  barbaric,  in  all  genius. 

Was  he  a  genius  ?  For  an  instant  she  almost 
thought  that  he  was,  when  she  saw  the  people 
make  way  for  him  to  pass  out  of  the  church,  as 
though  he  were  a  great  personage,  Parpon  trotting 
behind  him.  He  carried  himself  with  true  appre- 
ciation of  the  incident,  acknowledging  more  by 
look  than  by  sign  this  courtesy. 

"  Upon  my  word, "she  said,  "  he  has  them  in  his 
pocket !  "  Then,  unconsciously  plagiarizing  Par- 
pon :  "  Prince  or  barber — a  toss-up,  indeed  ! " 

Outside,  many  had  gathered  round  Medallion. 
The  auctioneer,  who  liked  the  unique  thing  and 
was  not  without  tact,  so  took  on  himself  the  office 
of  inquisitor,  even  as  there  rose  again  little  snatches 
of  "  Vive  Napoleon  "  from  the  crowd.  He  ap- 
proached Valmond,  who  was  moving  on  towards 
the  Louis  Quinze,  with  just  valuation  of  a  time  for 
disappearing. 

"  We  know  you,  sir,"  said  Medallion,  "  as  Mon- 
sieur Valmond,  but  there  are  those  who  think  you 
would  let  us  address  you  by  a  name  better  known — 
indeed,  the  name  dear  to  all  Frenchmen.  If  it  be 
so,  will  you  not  let  us  call  you  Napoleon  "  (he  took 
off  his  hat,  and  Valmond  did  the  same),  "  and  will 
you  tell  us  what  we  may  do  for  you  ?  " 

Madame  Chalice,  a  little  way  off,  watched  Val- 
mond closely.  He  seemed  to  hesitate  a  moment, 


52          WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO   PONTIAC 

yet  he  was  not  outwardly  nervous,  and  presently 
answered  with  an  air  of  empr  es  semen  t: 

"  Monsieur,  my  friends,  I  am  in  the  hands  of 
Fate.  I  am  dumb.  Fate  speaks  for  me.  But  we 
shall  know  each  other  better ;  and  I  trust  you, 
who,  as  Frenchmen,  descended  from  a  better  day  in 
France,  will  not  betray  me.  Let  us  be  patient  till 
Destiny  strikes  the  hour." 

For  the  first  time  to-day  he  now  saw  Madame 
Chalice.  She  could  have  done  no  better  thing  to 
serve  him,  than  to  hold  out  her  hand,  and  say 
in  her  clear  tones,  which  had,  too,  a  fascinating 
sort  of  monotony : 

"  Monsieur,  if  you  are  idle  Friday  afternoon,  per- 
haps you  will  bestow  on  me  a  half-hour  at  the 
Manor ;  and  I  will  try  to  make  half  mine  no  bad 
one." 

He  was  keen  enough  to  feel  the  delicacy  of  the 
point  through  the  deftness  of  the  phrase  ;  and 
what  he  said  and  what  he  did  now  had  no  pose, 
but  sheer  gratitude.  With  a  few  gracious  words 
to  Medallion  she  bowed  and  drove  away,  leaving 
Valmond  in  the  midst  of  an  admiring  crowd. 

He  was  launched  on  an  adventure  as  whimsical 
as  tragical,  if  he  was  an  impostor;  and  if  he  was 
not,  as  pathetic  as  droll.  He  was  scarcely  con- 
scious that  Parpon  walked  beside  him,  till  the 
dwarf  said  : 

"  Hold  on,  my  dauphin,  you  walk  too  fast  for 
your  poor  fool." 


CHAPTER  V 

Jr  ROM  this  hour  Valmond  was  carried  on  by  a 
wave  of  fortune.  Before  vespers  that  night,  it  was 
common  talk  that  he  was  a  true  son  of  the  great 
Napoleon,  born  at  St.  Helena. 

Why  did  he  come  to  Pontiac  ?  He  wished  to 
be  in  retirement  till  his  friends,  acting  for  him  in 
France,  gave  him  the  signal,  and  then  with  a 
small  army  of  French  Canadians  he  would  cross 
the  sea,  and  land  in  France.  Thousands  would 
gather  round  his  standard,  and  so  marching  on 
to  Paris,  the  Napoleonic  faith  would  be  revived, 
and  he  would  come  into  his  own.  It  is  possible 
that  these  stories  might  have  been  traced  to  Par- 
pon,  but  he  had  covered  up  his  trail  so  well  that 
no  one  followed  him. 

On  that  Sunday  evening,  young  men  and  old 
flocked  into  his  room  at  the  Louis  Quinze,  shook 
hands  with  him,  addressing  him  as  "  Your  Excel- 
lency "  or  "  Your  Highness,"  and  so  on.  He  main- 
tained towards  them  a  mysterious  yet  kindly  re- 
serve, singularly  effective.  They  inspected  the 
martial  furnishing  of  the  room  :  the  drum,  the  pair 
of  rifles,  the  pistols  in  the  corner,  the  sabres  crossed 
on  the  wall,  the  gold-handled  sword  that  lay  upon 
the  table,  and  the  picture  of  Napoleon  on  a  white 


54          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

horse,  against  the  wall.  Tobacco  and  wine  were 
set  upon  a  side  table,  and  every  man  as  he  passed 
out,  took  a  glass  and  enough  tobacco  for  his  pipe, 
and  said  :  "  Of  grace,  your  health,  monseigneur  ! " 

There  were  those  who  scoffed,  who  from  sheer 
habit  disbelieved,  and  nodded  knowingly,  and 
whispered  in  each  other's  ears  ;  but  these  were  in 
the  minority ;  and  all  the  women  and  children 
declared  for  "  The  Man  of  Destiny."  And  when 
some  foolish  body  asked  him  for  a  lock  of  his  hair, 
and  old  Madame  De*gardy  (Crazy  Joan,  as  she  was 
called)  followed,  offering  him  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and 
a  lad  appeared  with  a  bunch  of  violets  from 
Madame  Chalice,  the  dissentients  were  cast  in 
shadow,  and  had  no  longer  courage  to  doubt. 

Madame  Chalice  had  been  merely  whimsical  in 
sending  these  violets,  which  her  gardener  had 
brought  her  that  very  morning. 

"  It  will  help  along  the  pretty  farce,"  she  had 
said  to  herself,  and  then  she  sat  her  down  to  read 
Napoleon's  letters  to  Josephine,  and  to  wonder 
that  a  woman  could  have  been  faithless  and  vile 
with  such  a  man.  Her  blood  raced  indignantly  in 
her  veins,  as  she  thought  of  it.  She  admired  intel- 
lect, supremacy,  the  gifts  of  temperament,  deeds  of 
war  and  adventure  beyond  all.  As  yet  her  brain 
was  stronger  than  her  feelings  ;  there  had  been  no 
breakers  of  emotion  in  her  life.  A  wife,  she  had 
no  child;  the  mother  in  her  was  spent  upon  her 
husband,  whose  devotion,  honor,  name,  and  good- 
ness were  dear  to  her.  Yet— yet  she  had  a  world 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          55 

of  her  own,  and  reading  Napoleon's  impassioned 
letters  to  his  wife,  written  with  how  great  hom- 
age, in  the  flow  of  the  tide  washing  to  famous 
battlefields,  an  exultation  of  ambition  inspired  her, 
and  the  genius  of  her  distinguished  ancestors  set 
her  heart  beating  hard.  Presently,  her  face  alive 
with  feeling,  a  furnace  in  her  eyes,  she  repeated 
a  paragraph  from  Napoleon's  letters  to  Josephine  : 

"  The  enemy  have  lost,  my  dearest,  eighteen 
thousand  men,  prisoners,  killed,  and  wounded. 
Wurmzer  has  nothing  left  but  to  throw  himself 
into  Mantua.  I  hope  soon  to  be  in  your  arms. 
I  love  you  to  distraction.  All  is  well.  Nothing 
is  wanting  to  your  husband's  happiness,  save 
the  love  of  Josephine." 

She  sprang  to  her  feet.  "  And  she,  wife  of  a 
hero,  was  in  common  intrigue  with  Hippolyte 
Charles  at  the  time !  She  had  a  conqueror,  a 
splendid  adventurer,  and  coming  emperor,  for  a 
husband,  and  she  loved  him  not.  I — I  could  have 
knelt  to  him — worshipped  him.  I  " —  With  a 
little  hysterical,  disdainful  laugh  (as  of  the  soul 
at  itself)  she  leaned  upon  the  window,  looking  into 
the  village  below,  alternately  smiling  and  frowning 
at  the  thought  of  this  adventurer  down  at  the 
Louis  Quinze. 

"  Yet,  who  can  tell  ?  Napoleon  dressed  infa- 
mously, too,  before  he  was  successful,  and  Dis- 
raeli was  half  mountebank  at  the  start,"  she  said. 
But  again  she  laughed,  as  at  an  absurdity. 

During  the  next  few  days  Valmond  was  every- 


56          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

where — kind,  liberal,  tireless,  at  times  melan- 
choly ;  "  in  the  distant  perspective  of  the  stage," 
as  Monsieur  De  la  Riviere  remarked  mockingly. 
But  a  passing  member  of  the  legislature  met  and 
was  conquered  by  Valmond,  and  carried  on  to 
neighboring  parishes  the  wondrous  tale. 

He  carried  it  through  Ville  Bambord,  fifty  miles 
away,  and  the  story  of  how  a  Napoleon  had  come  to 
Pontiac,  reached  the  ears  of  old  Sergeant  Eustache 
Lagroin  of  the  Old  Guard,  who  had  fought  with 
the  Great  Emperor  at  Waterloo,  and  in  his  army 
on  twenty  other  battlefields.  He  had  been  at 
Fontainebleau  when  Napoleon  bade  farewell  to 
the  Old  Guard,  saying  :  "  For  twenty  years  I  have 
ever  found  you  in  the  path  of  honor  and  glory. 
Adieu,  my  children  ;  I  would  I  were  able  to  press 
you  all  to  my  heart — but  I  will  at  least  press  your 
eagle.  I  go  to  record  the  great  deeds  we  have 
done  together." 

When  the  gossip  came  to  Lagroin,  as  he  sat  in 
his  doorway,  babbling  of  Grouchy,  and  Lannes, 
and  Davoust,  the  Little  Corporal  outflanking  them 
all  in  his  praise,  his  dim  eyes  flared  out  from  the 
distant  sky  of  youth  and  memory,  his  lips  pursed 
in  anger,  and  he  got  to  his  feet,  his  stick  pounding 
angrily  on  the  ground. 

"  Tut !  tut !  "  said  he.  "  A  lie  !  a  pretty  lie  ! 
I  knew  all  the  Napoleons — Joseph,  Lucien,  Louis, 
Jerome,  Caroline,  Eliza,  Pauline — all !  I  have  seen 
them  every  one.  And  their  children — pah  !  Who 
can  deceive  me  ?  I  will  go  to  Pontiac,  I  will  see 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          57 

to  this  tomfoolery.  I'll  bring  the  rascal  to  the 
drumhead.  Does  he  think  there  is  no  one  ?  Pish  ! 
I  will  spit  him  at  the  first  stroke.  Here,  here, 
Manette,"  he  cried  to  his  grand-daughter,  "  fetch 
out  my  uniform,  give  it  an  airing,  and  see  to  the 
buttons.  I  will  show  this  brag  how  one  of  the  Old 
Guard  looked  at  Saint  Jean.  Quick,  my  sabre 
polish  ;  I'll  clean  my  musket,  and  to-morrow  I  will 
go  to  Pontiac.  I'll  put  the  scamp  through  his 
facings — but,  yes  !  I  am  eighty-five,  but  I  have  an 
arm  of  thirty  ! " 

True  to  his  word,  the  next  morning  at  daybreak 
he  started  to  walk  to  Pontiac,  accompanied  for  a 
mile  or  so  by  Manette  and  a  few  of  the  villagers. 

"See  you,  my  child,"  he  said,  "  I  will  stay  with 
my  niece,  De'sire  Malboir,  and  her  daughter  £lise 
there  in  Pontiac.  You  shall  hear  how  I  fetch  that 
vagabond  to  his  potage  !  " 

Valmond  had  purchased  a  tolerable  white  horse 
through  Medallion,  and  after  a  day's  grooming 
the  beast  showed  off  very  well,  and  he  was  now 
seen  riding  about  the  parish,  dressed  after  the 
manner  of  the  First  Napoleon,  with  a  cocked  hat, 
and  a  short  sword  at  his  side.  He  rode  well,  and 
the  silver  and  pennies  he  scattered  were  most 
fruitful  of  effect  from  the  martial  elevation.  He 
happened  to  be  riding  into  the  village  at  one  end, 
as  Sergeant  Lagroin  entered  it  at  the  other,  each 
going  toward  the  Louis  Quinze.  Valmond  knew 
nothing  of  Sergeant  Lagroin,  so  that  what  fol- 
lowed was  of  the  inspiration  of  the  moment.  It 


58          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

sprang  from  his  wit,  and  from  his  knowledge  of 
Napoleon  and  the  Napoleonic  history,  a  knowl- 
edge which  had  sent  Monsieur  Garon  into  tears 
of  joy,  and  afterward  off  to  the  Manor  House  and 
also  to  the  Seigneury,  full  of  praise  of  him. 

Catching  sight  of  the  irate  sergeant,  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  thing  flashed  to  his  brain,  and,  sitting 
very  straight, Valmond  rode  steadily  down  towards 
the  old  soldier.  The  sergeant  had  drawn  notice  as 
he  came  up  the  street,  and  people  thronged  to  their 
doors,  and  children  followed  the  gray,  dust-covered 
veteran  in  his  last-century  uniform.  He  came  as 
far  as  the  Louis  Quinze,  and  then,  looking  on  up 
the  road,  he  saw  the  white  horse,  the  cocked  hat, 
the  white  waistcoat,  and  the  long  gray  coat.  He 
brought  his  stick  down  smartly  on  the  ground, 
drew  himself  up,  squared  his  shoulders,  and  said  : 
"  Courage,  Eustache  Lagroin.  It  is  not  forty 
Prussians,  but  one  rogue.  Crush  him  !  Down 
with  the  pretender  ! " 

So,  with  a  defiant  light  in  his  eye,  he  came  on, 
the  old  uniform  sagging  loosely  on  the  shrunken 
body,  which  yet  was  soldier-like  from  head  to 
foot.  Years  of  camp  and  discipline,  and  battle  and 
endurance,  were  in  the  whole  aspect  of  the  man. 
He  was  no  more  of  Pontiac  and  this  simple  life 
than  Valmond  himself. 

So  they  neared  each  other,  the  challenger  and 
the  challenged,  the  champion  and  the  invader ; 
and  quickly  the  village  emptied  itself  out  to  see. 

When  Valmond  came  so  close  that  he  could  see 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          59 

every  detail  of  the  old  man's  uniform,  he  suddenly 
reined  in  his  horse,  drew  him  back  on  his  haunches 
with  his  left  hand,  and  with  his  right  saluted,  not 
the  old  sergeant,  but  t!  e  coat  of  the  Old  Guard, 
to  which  his  eyes  were  directed.  Mechanically 
the  hand  of  the  sergeant  came  to  his  cap,  then, 
with  an  angry  movement,  the  old  man  seemed  as 
though  he  would  attack  him. 

Valmond  sat  very  still,  his  right  hand  thrust  in 
his  bosom,  his  forehead  bent,  his  eyes  calmly, 
resolutely,  yet  distantly,  looking  at  the  sergeant, 
who  grew  suddenly  still  also,  while  the  people 
watched  and  wondered. 

A  soft  light  passed  across  Valmond's  face,  re- 
lieving its  theatrical  firmness,  and  the  half-con- 
temptuous curl  of  his  lip.  He  knew  well  enough 
that  this  event  would  make  or  unmake  him  in 
Pontiac.  He  became  also  aware  that  a  carriage 
had  driven  up  among  the  villagers,  and  had 
.stopped,  and  though  he  did  not  look  directly  he 
felt  that  it  was  Madame  Chalice.  This  sudden 
gentleness  was  not  all  assumed  ;  for  the  ancient 
uniform  of  the  sergeant  touched  something  within 
him,  the  true  comedian,  or  the  true  Napoleon, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  he  might  get  from  his  horse 
and  take  the  old  soldier  in  his  arms. 

He  rode  forward,  and  paused  again,  with  not 
more  than  fifteen  feet  between  them.  The  ser- 
geant's brain  was  going  round  like  a  top.  It  was 
not  he  that  challenged,  after  all. 

"  Soldier  of  the  Old  Guard,"  cried  Valmond,  in  a 


60          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

clear,  ringing  voice,  "  how  far  is  it  to  Fried- 
land  ?" 

Like  a  machine  the  veteran's  hand  went  again 
to  his  cap,  and  he  answered  : 

"  To  Friedland — the  width  of  a  ditch." 

His  voice  shook  as  he  said  it,  and  the  world  to 
him  was  all  a  muddle  ;  for  this  question  Napoleon 
the  Great  had  asked  a  private  after  that  battle 
on  the  Alle,  when  Berningsen,  the  Russian,  threw 
away  an  army  to  the  master  strategist. 

The  private  had  answered  the  question  in  the 
words  of  Sergeant  Lagroin.  It  was  a  saying  long 
afterward  among  the  Old  Guard,  though  it  may 
not  be  found  in  the  usual  histories  of  that  time, 
where  every  battalion,  almost  every  company,  had 
a  watchword,  which  passed  to  make  room  for 
others,  as  victory  followed  victory. 

"  Soldier  of  the  Old  Guard,"  said  Valmond  again, 
"  how  came  you  by  those  scars  upon  your  fore- 
head ?  " 

"  I  was  a  drummer  at  Auerstadt,  a  corporal  at 
Austerlitz,  a  sergeant  at  Waterloo,"  rolled  back 
the  reply,  in  a  high,  quavering  voice,  as  memories 
of  great  events  blew  in  upon  the  ancient  fires  of 
his  spirit. 

"  Ah,"  answered  Valmond,  nodding  eagerly, 
"with  Davoust  at  Auerstadt — thirty  against  sixty 
thousand  men.  At  eight  o'clock,  all  fog  and  mist, 
as  you  marched  up  the  defile  toward  the  Sonnen- 
berg  hills,  the  brave  Gudin  and  his  division  feeling 
their  way  to  Blucher.  Comrade,  how  still  you 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          6l 

stepped,* your  bayonet  before  you,  clearing  the 
mists,  your  eyes  straining,  your  teeth  set,  ready 
to  thrust.  All  at  once  a  quick  moving  mass 
sprang  out  of  the  haze,  and  upon  you,  with  hardly 
a  sound  of  warning  ;  and  an  army  of  hussars 
launched  themselves  at  your  bayonets  !  You  bent 
that  wall  back  like  a  piece  of  steel,  and  broke  it. 
Comrade,  that  was  the  beginning,  in  the  mists  of 
morning.  Tell  me,  how  fared  you  in  the  light 
of  evening,  at  the  end  of  that  bloody  day  ?  " 

The  old  soldier  was  trembling.  There  was  no 
sign,  no  movement  from  the  crowd.  Across  the 
fields  came  the  sharpening  of  a  scythe  and  the 
cry  of  the  grasshoppers,  and  the  sound  of  a  mill- 
wheel  arose  near  by.  In  the  mill  itself,  in  a  high 
dormer  window,  sat  Parpon  and  his  black  cat, 
looking  down  upon  the  scene  with  a  grim 
smiling. 

The  old  sergeant  saw  again  that  mist  fronting 
Sonnenberg  rise  up  and  show  ten  thousand  splen- 
did cavalry  and  fifty  thousand  infantry,  with  a  king 
and  a  prince  to  lead  them  down  upon  those  malle- 
able but  unmoving  squares  of  French  infantry. 
He  saw  himself  drumming  the  Prussians  back  and 
his  Frenchmen  on. 

"  Beautiful  God  !  "  he  cried  proudly,  "  that  was 
a  day  !  And  every  man  of  the  Third  Corps  that 
time  he  lift  up  the  lid  of  hell  and  drop  a  Prussian 
in.  I  stand  beside  Davoust  once,  and  ping  come  a 
bullet,  and  take  off  his  chapeau.  It  fell  upon  my 
drum.  I  stoop  and  pick  it  up,  and  hand  it  to  him, 


62          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

but  I  keep  drumming  with  one  hand  all  the  time. 
'  Comrade,'  say  I,  '  the  army  thank  you  for  your 
courtesy.'  '  Brother,'  he  say,  '  'twas  to  your 
drum,'  and  his  eye  flash  out  where  Gudin  carved 
his  way  through  those  pigs  of  Prussians.  '  I'd 
take  my  head  off  to  keep  your  saddle  filled,  com- 
rade,' say  I.  Ping  /  come  a  bullet  and  catch  me 
in  the  calf.  « You  hold  your  head  too  high,  bro- 
ther,' the  general  say,  and  he  smile.  '  I'll  hold  it 
higher,  comrade,'  answer  I,  and  I  snatch  at  a 
soldier.  '  Up  with  me  on  your  shoulder,  big  com- 
rade/ I  say,  and  he  lift  me  up.  I  make  my  sticks 
sing  on  the  leather.  '  You  shall  take  off  your  hat 
to  the  Little  Corporal  to-morrow  if  you've  still 
your  head,  brother,' — he  speak  like  that,  and  then 
he  ride  away  like  the  devil  to  Morand's  guns. 
Ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

The  sergeant's  face  was  blazing,  but  with  a 
white  sort  of  glare,  for  he  was  very  pale,  and  he 
seemed  unconscious  of  all  save  the  scene  in  his 
mind's  eye.  "  Ha,  ha,  ha ! "  he  laughed  again. 
"  Beautiful  God,  how  did  Davoust  bring  us  on  up 
to  Sonnenberg  !  And  next  day  I  saw  the  Little 
Corporal.  '  Drummer/  say  he,  '  no  head's  too 
high  for  my  Guard.  Come,  you,  comrade,  your 
general  gives  you  to  me.  Come,  Corporal  La- 
groin/  he  call  ;  and  I  come.  '  But,  first/  he  say, 
•  up  on  the  shoulder  of  your  big  soldier  again, 
and  play/  '  What  shall  I  play,  sire  ?  '  I  ask.  '  Play 
ten  thousand  heroes  to  Walhalla/  he  answer. 
I  play,  and  I  think  of  my  brother  Jacques, 


WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC          63 

who  went  fighting  to  heaven  the  day  before. 
Beautiful  God,  that  was  a  day  at  Auerstadt  ! " 

"Soldier,"  said  Valmond,  waving  his  hand, 
"  step  on.  There  is  a  drum  at  the  Louis  Quinze. 
Let  us  go  together,  comrade." 

The  old  sergeant  was  in  a  dream.  He  wheeled, 
the  crowd  made  way  for  him,  and  at  the  neck  of 
the  white  horse  he  came  on  to  the  hotel.  As  they 
passed  the  carriage  of  Madame  Chalice,  Valmond 
made  no  sign.  They  stopped  in  front  of  the  hotel, 
and  Valmond,  motioning  to  the  gargon,  gave  him 
an  order.  The  old  sergeant  stood  silent,  his  eyes 
full  fixed  upon  him.  In  a  moment  the  boy  came 
out  with  the  drum.  Valmond  took  it,  and  holding 
it  in  his  hands,  said  softly  : 

"  Soldier  of  the  Old  Guard,  here  is  a  drum  of 
France." 

Without  a  word  the  old  man  took  the  drum,  his 
fingers  trembling  as  he  fastened  it  to  his  belt. 
When  he  seized  the  sticks,  all  trembling  ceased, 
and  his  hands  and  body  grew  steady.  He  was 
living  in  the  past  entirely. 

"Soldier,"  said  Valmond,  in  a  loud  voice,  "re- 
member Austerlitz.  The  Heights  of  Pratzen  are 
before  you.  Play  up  the  feet  of  the  army." 

For  an  instant  the  old  man  did  not  move,  and 
then  a  sullen  sort  of  look  came  over  his  face.  He 
was  not  a  drummer  at  Austerlitz,  and  for  the  in- 
stant he  did  not  remember  the  tune  the  drummers 
played. 

"Soldier,"  said  Valmond,  softly,   "with   'The 


64          WHEN   VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

Little  Sword  that  Danced/  play  up  the  feet  of  the 
army." 

A  light  broke  over  the  old  man's  face.  The 
swift  look  he  cast  on  Valmond  had  no  distrust  now. 
Instantly  his  hand  went  to  his  cap. 

"  My  General !  "  he  said,  and  stepped  in  front  of 
the  white  horse.  There  was  a  moment's  pause, 
and  then  the  sergeant's  arms  were  raised,  and 
down  came  the  sticks  with  a  rolling  rattle  on  the 
leather.  They  sent  a  shiver  of  feeling  through  the 
village,  and  turned  the  meek  white  horse  into  a 
charger  of  war.  No  man  laughed  at  the  drama 
performed  in  Pontiac  that  day,  not  even  the  little 
coterie  who  were  present,  not  even  Monsieur  De 
la  Riviere,  whose  brow  was  black  with  hatred,  for 
he  had  watched  the  eyes  of  Madame  Chalice  fill 
with  tears  at  the  old  sergeant's  tale  of  Auerstadt, 
had  noticed  her  admiring  glance  "  at  this  damned 
comedian,"  as  he  now  designated  Valmond.  When 
he  came  to  the  carriage  of  Madame  Chalice,  she 
said  with  oblique  suggestion  : 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"  Impostor  !     Fakir  ! "  was  his  sulky  reply. 

"  If  fakirs  and  impostors  are  so  convincing,  dear 
monsieur,    why    be    yourself   longer  ? 
Listen  !  "  she  commanded  abruptly. 

Valmond  had  spoken  down  at  the  aged  drum- 
mer, whose  arms  were  young  again,  as  once  more 
he  marched  on  Pratzen.  Suddenly  from  the  ser- 
geant's lips  there  broke,  in  a  high  shaking  voice,  to 
the  rattle  of  the  drum  : 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          65 

*  *  Conscrits  au  pas  ; 

Ne  pleurez  pas  ; 

Ne  pleurez  pas  ; 

Marchez  aupas, 

Aupas,  aupas,  aupas,  aupas!" 

They  had  not  gone  twenty  yards  before  fifty 
men  and  boys,  caught  in  the  inflammable  moment, 
sprang  out  from  the  crowd,  fell  involuntarily,  into 
rough  marching  order,  and  joined  in  the  inspiring 
refrain : 

"  Marchez  au  pas, 
Aupas,  aupas,  aupas,  aupas /" 

The  old  man  in  front  was  charged  anew.  All 
at  once,  at  a  word  from  Valmond,  he  broke  into 
the  Marseillaise,  with  his  voice  and  with  his  drum. 
To  these  Frenchmen  of  an  age  before  the  Revolu- 
tion, the  Marseillaise  had  only  been  a  song.  Now 
in  their  ignorant  breasts  there  waked  the  spirit  of 
France,  and  from  their  throats  there  burst  out  with 
a  half-delirious  ecstasy : 

"  Allans,  enfants  de  la patrie, 
Le  jour  de  gloire  est  arrive" 

As  they  neared  the  Louis  Quinze  a  dozen  men, 
just  arrived  in  the  village,  returned  from  river- 
driving,  carried  away  by  the  chant,  tumultuously 
joined  the  cavalcade,  and  so  came  on  in  a  fever  of 
vague  patriotism.  A  false  note  in  the  proceedings, 
5 


66          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

a  mismove  on  the  part  of  Valmond,  would  easily 
have  made  the  thing  ridiculous ;  but  even  to 
Madame  Chalice,  with  her  keen  artistic  sense,  it 
had  a  pathetic  sort  of  dignity,  by  virtue  of  its  rude 
earnestness,  its  raw  sincerity.  She  involuntarily 
thought  of  the  great  Napoleon  and  his  toy  king- 
dom of  Elbe,  of  Garibaldi  and  his  handful  of 
patriots.  There  were  depths  here,  and  she 
knew  it. 

"  Even  the  pantaloon  may  have  a  soul, — or  a 
king  may  have  a  heart,"  she  said. 

In  front  of  the  Louis  Quinze,  Valmond  waved 
his  hand  for  a  halt,  and  the  ancient  drummer 
wheeled  and  faced  him,  fronting  the  crowd.  Val- 
mond was  pale,  and  his  eyes  burned  like  rest- 
less ghosts.  The  Cupid  bow  of  the  thin  Napole- 
onic lips,  the  distant  yet  piercing  look  of  the  Great 
Emperor,  manifested  itself  in  this  man  with  start- 
ling distinctness  as  he  waved  his  hand  again,  and 
the  crowd  became  silent. 

"  My  children,"  said  he,  "  we  have  made  a  good 
beginning.  Once  more  among  you  the  antique 
spirit  lives.  From  you  may  come  the  quickening 
of  our  beloved  country ;  for  she  is  yours,  though 
here  under  the  flag  of  our  ancient  and  amiable 
enemy  you  wait  the  hour  of  your  return  to  her. 
In  you  there  is  nothing  mean  or  dull ;  you  are 
true  Frenchmen.  My  love  is  with  you.  And  you 
and  I,  true  to  each  other,  may  come  into  our  own 
again— over  there  ! " 

He  pointed  to  the  East. 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          67 

"Through  you  and  me  may  France  be  born 
again,  and  in  the  villages  and  fields  and  houses 
of  Normandy  and  Brittany  you  may,  as  did  your 
ancestors,  live  in  peace,  and  bring  your  bones  to 
rest  in  that  blessed  and  honorable  ground.  My 
children,  my  heart  is  full.  Let  us  move  on  to- 
gether. Napoleon  from  St.  Helena  calls  to  you. 
Napoleon  in  Pontiac  calls  to  you  !  Will  you 
come  ?  " 

Reckless  cheering  followed  ;  many  were  carried 
away  into  foolish  tears,  and  Valmond  sat  still  and 
let  them  kiss  his  hand,  while  pitchers  of  wine 
went  round. 

Again  he  raised  his  hand,  and  getting  silence 
with  a  gesture,  he  opened  his  waistcoat,  and  took 
from  his  bosom  an  order  fastened  to  a  little  bar  of 
gold. 

"Drummer,"  he  said,  in  a  clear  full  tone,  "  call 
the  army  to  attention." 

The  old  man  set  their  blood  tingling  with  the 
impish  sticks. 

"  I  advance  Sergeant  Lagroin  of  the  Old  Guard, 
of  glorious  memory,  to  the  rank  of  Captain  in  my 
Household  Troops,  and  I  command  you  to  obey 
him  as  such." 

His  look  then  bent  upon  the  crowd  as  Napo- 
leon's might  have  done  on  the  Third  Corps. 

"Drummer,  call  the  army  to  attention,"  fell  the 
words  again. 

And  like  a  small  whirlwind  of  hailstones  the 
sticks  shook  on  the  drum. 


68          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

"  I  advance  Captain  Lagroin  to  the  rank  of  Colo- 
nel in  my  Household  Troops,  and  I  command  you 
to  obey  him  as  such." 

And  once  more  :  "  Drummer,  call  the  army  to 
attention." 

The  sticks  rang  down,  but  they  faltered  a  little, 
for  the  drummer  was  trembling  now. 

"  I  advance  Colonel  Lagroin  to  the  rank  of  Gen- 
eral in  my  Household  Troops,  and  I  command  you 
to  obey  him  as  such." 

He  beckoned,  and  the  old  man  drew  near. 
Stooping,  he  pinned  the  order  upon  his  breast. 
When  the  sergeant  saw  what  it  was,  he  turned 
pale,  and  the  drumsticks  fell  from  his  shaking 
hands.  His  eyes  shone  like  sun  on  wet  glass, 
then  tears  sprang  from  them  upon  his  face.  He 
caught  Valmond's  hand  and  kissed  it,  and  cried, 
oblivious  of  them  all : 

"Ah,  sire  !  sire  !  It  is  true.  It  is  true.  I  know 
that  ribbon,  and  I  know  you  are  a  Napoleon.  Sire, 
I  love  you,  and  I  will  die  for  you  ! " 

For  the  first  time  that  day  a  touch  of  the  fan- 
tastic came  into  Valmond's  manner. 

"  General,"  said  he,  "  the  centuries  look  down 
on  us  as  they  looked  down  on  him — your  sire — 
and  mine  !  " 

He  doffed  his  hat,  and  the  hats  of  all  likewise 
came  off  in  a  strange  quiet.  A  cheer  followed, 
and  Valmond  motioned  for  the  wine  to  go  round 
freely.  Then  he  got  off  his  horse,  and  taking  the 
weeping  old  man  by  the  arm,  himself  loosening 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          69 

the  drum  from  his  belt,  they  walked  into  the 
hotel. 

"  A  cheerful  bit  of  foolery  and  treason  !  "  said 
De  la  Riviere  to  Madame  Chalice. 

"  My  dear  Seigneur,  if  you  only  had  more  hu- 
mor and  less  patriotism  !  "  she  answered.  "Trea- 
son may  have  its  virtues.  It  certainly  is  interest- 
ing, which,  in  your  present  gloomy  state,  you  are 
not." 

"  I  wonder,  madame,  that  you  can  countenance 
this  imposture,"  he  broke  out. 

"Excellent  and  superior  monsieur,  I  wonder 
sometimes  that  I  can  countenance  you.  Breakfast 
with  me  on  Sunday,  and  perhaps  I  will  tell  you 
why — at  twelve  o'clock." 

She  drove  on,  but  meeting  the  Cure",  stopped  her 
carriage. 

"  Why  so  grave,  my  dear  Cure*  ?  "  she  said,  hold- 
ing out  her  hand. 

He  fingered  the  gold  cross  upon  his  breast — she 
had  given  it  to  him  two  years  before. 

"  I  am  going  to  counsel  him — Monsieur  Val- 
mond,"  he  said.  Then,  with  a  sigh  :  "  He  sent 
me  two  hundred  dollars  for  the  altar  to-day,  and 
fifty  dollars  to  buy  new  cassocks  for  myself." 

"Come  in  the  morning  and  tell  me  what  he 
says,"  she  answered  ;  "  and  bring  our  dear  avocat." 

As  she  looked  from  her  window  an  hour  later 
she  saw  bonfires  burning,  and  up  from  the  village 
came  the  old  song  that  had  prefaced  a  drama  in 
Pontiac. 


70          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

But  Elise  Malboir  had  a  keener  interest  that 
night,  for  Valmond  and  Parpon  brought  her  uncle, 
"  General  Lagroin,"  in  honor  to  her  mother's  cot- 
tage ;  and  she  sat  listening  dreamily  as  Valmond 
and  the  old  man  talked  of  great  things  to  be  done. 


CHAPTER  VI 

JT  RINCE  or  plebeian,  Valmond  played  his  part 
with  equal  aplomb  at  the  simple  home  of  Elise 
Malboir,  and  at  the  Manor  Hilaire  where  Madame 
Chalice  received  him.  On  this  occasion  there  was 
nothing  bizarre  in  Valmond's  dress.  He  was  in 
black — long  coat,  silk  stockings,  the  collar  of  his 
waistcoat  faced  with  white,  his  neckerchief  white 
and  full,  his  enamelled  shoes  adorned  with  silver 
buckles.  His  present  repose  and  decorum  con- 
trasted strangely  with  the  fanciful  display  at  his 
first  introduction.  Madame  Chalice  approved  in- 
stantly, for  though  the  costume  was  in  itself  an 
affectation,  previous  to  the  time  by  a  generation, 
it  was  in  the  picture,  was  sedately  refined.  She 
welcomed  him  in  the  salon  where  many  another 
distinguished  man  had  been  entertained,  from 
Frontenac,  and  Vaudreuil,  down  to  Sir  Guy  Carle- 
ton.  The  Manor  belonged  to  her  husband's  peo- 
ple seventy-five  years  before,  and  though,  as  a 
banker  in  New  York,  Monsieur  Chalice  had  be- 
come an  American  of  the  Americans,  at  her  re- 
quest he  had  bought  back  from  a  kinsman  the  old 
place  as  it  stood,  furniture  and  all.  Bringing  the 
antique  plate,  china,  and  bric-a-brac,  made  in 
France  when  Henri  Quatre  was  king,  she  had  fared 


72          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

away  to  Quebec,  set  the  old  mansion  in  order,  and 
was  happy  for  a  whole  summer,  as  was  her  hus- 
band, the  best  of  fishermen  and  sportsmen. 

The  Manor  stood  on  a  knoll,  behind  which, 
steppe  on  steppe,  climbed  the  hills,  till  they  ended 
in  Dalgrothe  Mountain.  Beyond  the  mountain 
were  unexplored  regions,  hill  and  valley  floating 
into  hill  and  valley,  lost  in  a  miasmic  haze,  ruddy, 
silent,  untenanted,  save  mayhap  by  the  strange 
people  known  as  the  Little  Good  Folk  of  the  Scarlet 
Hills. 

The  house  had  been  built  in  the  seventeenth 
century,  and  the  walls  were  very  thick,  to  keep 
out  both  cold  and  attack.  Beneath  the  high 
pointed  roof  were  big  dormer  windows,  and  huge 
chimneys  flanked  each  side  of  the  house.  The 
great  roof  gave  a  sense  of  crouching  or  hovering, 
for  warmth  or  in  menace.  As  Valmond  entered 
the  garden,  Madame  Chalice  was  leaning  over  the 
lower  half  of  the  entrance  door,  which  opened 
latitudinally,  and  was  hung  on  large  iron  hinges 
of  quaint  design,  made  by  some  seventeenth  cen- 
tury forgeron.  Behind  her  deepened  hospitably 
the  spacious  hall,  studded  and  heavy  beamed,  with 
its  unpainted  pine  ceiling  toned  to  a  good  brown 
by  smoke  and  time.  Caribou  and  moose  antlers 
hung  along  the  wall,  with  arquebuses,  powder- 
horns,  and  big  shot  bags,  swords,  and  even  pieces 
of  armor,  such  as  Carder  brought  with  him  from 
St.  Malo. 

Madame  Chalice  looked  out  of  this  ancient  ave- 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          73 

nue,  a  contrast  yet  a  harmony;  for,  though  her 
dress  was  modern,  her  person  had  a  rare  touch  of 
the  archaic,  and  fitted  into  the  picture  like  a  piece 
of  beautiful  porcelain,  colored  long  before  the  art 
of  making  fadeless  dyes  was  lost. 

There  was  an  amused,  meditative  smiling  at 
her  lips,  a  kind  of  wonder,  the  flush  of  a  new  ex- 
perience. She  turned,  and,  stepping  softly  into  the 
salon,  seated  herself  near  the  immense  chimney, 
in  a  heavily  carved  chair,  her  feet  lost  in  the  rich 
furs  on  the  polished  floor.  A  table  at  her  hand, 
inlaid  with  antique  silver,  was  dotted  with  rare 
old  books  and  miniatures,  and  behind  her  ticked 
an  ancient  clock  in  a  tall  mahogany  case. 

Valmond  came  forward,  hat  in  hand,  and  raised 
to  his  lips  the  fingers  she  gave  him.  He  did  it 
with  the  vagueness  of  one  in  a  dream,  she  thought, 
and  she  neither  understood  nor  relished  his  un- 
complimentary abstraction  ;  so  she  straightway 
determined  to  give  him  some  troublesome  mo- 
ments. 

"  I  have  waited  to  drink  my  coffee  with  you," 
she  said,  motioning  him  to  a  seat.  "  And  you  may 
smoke  a  cigarette,  if  you  wish." 

Her  eyes  wandered  over  his  costume  with  criti- 
cal satisfaction. 

He  waved  his  hand  slightly,  declining  the  per- 
mission, and  looked  at  her  with  an  intent  serious- 
ness which  took  no  account  of  the  immediate 
charm  of  her  presence. 

"  I'd  like  to  ask  you  a  question,"  he  said,  with- 


74          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

out  preamble.  She  was  amused,  interested. 
Here  was  an  unusual  man,  who  ignored  the  con- 
ventional preliminary  nothings,  beating  down  the 
grass  before  the  play,  as  it  were. 

"  I  was  never  good  at  catechism,"  she  answered. 
"  But  I  will  be  as  hospitable  as  I  can." 

"I've  felt,"  he  said,  "that  you  can — can  see 
through  things  ;  that  you  can  balance  them,  that 
you  get  at  all  sides,  and "  % 

She  had  been  reading  Napoleon's  letters  this 
very  afternoon. 

"Full  squared  ?  "  she  interrupted  quizzically. 

"As  the  Great  Emperor  said,"  he  answered. 
"  A  woman  sees  farther  than  a  man,  and  if  she 
has  judgment  as  well,  she's  the  best  prophet  in 
the  world." 

"  It  sounds  distinctly  like  a  compliment,"  she 
answered.  "  You  are  trying  to  break  that 
square !  " 

She  was  a  little  mystified  ;  he  was  different  from 
any  man  she  had  ever  entertained.  She  was  not 
half  sure  she  liked  it.  Yet  if  he  were  in  very  truth 
a  prince — she  thought  smilingly  of  his  de"but  in 
flowered  waistcoat,  panama  hat,  and  enamelled 
boots  ! — she  should  take  this  confidence  as  a  com- 
pliment ;  if  he  were  a  barber,  she  could  not  resent 
it ;  she  could  not  waste  wit  or  time,  she  could  not 
even,  in  extremity,  call  the  servant  to  show  the  bar- 
ber out ;  and  in  any  case  she  was  too  comfortably 
interested  to  worry  herself  with  speculation. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  what 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          75 

is  the  thing  most  needed  to  make  a  great  idea 
succeed." 

"  I  have  never  had  a  great  idea,"  she  replied. 

He  looked  at  her  eagerly,  with  eyes  that  were 
almost  boy-like. 

"  How  simple,  and  yet  how  astute  he  is  !  "  she 
thought,  remembering  the  event  of  yesterday. 

"  I  thought  you  had,  I  was  sure  you  had,"  he 
said  in  a  troubled  sort  of  way.  He  did  not  see 
that  she  was  eluding  him. 

"  I  mean,  I  never  had  a  fixed  and  definite  idea 
that  I  proceeded  to  apply,  as  you  have  done,"  she 
explained  tentatively.  "  But — well,  I  suppose  that 
the  first  requisite  for  success  is  absolute  belief  in 
the  idea ;  that  it  be  part  of  one's  life,  to  suffer  for, 
to  fight  for,  to  die  for,  if  need  be — though  this 
sounds  like  a  hand-book  of  moral  mottoes,  doesn't 
it?" 

"  That's  it,  that's  it,"  he  said.  "  The  thing  must 
be  in  your  bones — hein  ?  " 

"  Also,  in — your  blood — hein  f  "  she  rejoined 
slowly  and  meaningly,  looking  over  the  top  of  her 
coffee-cup  at  him.  Somehow  again  the  plebeian 
quality  in  that  hein  grated  on  her,  and  she  could 
not  resist  the  retort. 

"What!"  said  he,  confusedly,  plunging  into 
another  pitfall.  She  had  challenged  him,  and  he 
knew  it. 

"  Nothing  what — ever,"  she  answered  with  an 
urbanity  that  defied  the  suggestion  of  malice. 
Yet,  now  that  she  remembered,  she  had  sweetly 


76          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

challenged  one  of  a  royal  house  for  the  like  lapse 
into  the  vulgar  tongue.  A  man  should  not  be 
beheaded  because  of  a  what.  So  she  continued 
more  gravely:  "The  idea  must  be  himself,  all 
of  him,  born  with  him,  the  rightful  output  of  his 
own  nature,  the  thing  he  must  inevitably  do,  or 
waste  his  life." 

She  looked  him  honestly  in  the  eyes.  She  had 
spoken  with  the  soft  malice  of  truth,  the  blind 
tyranny  of  the  just.  She  had  meant  to  test  him 
here  and  there  by  throwing  little  darts  of  satire, 
and  yet  he  made  her  serious  and  candid  in  spite 
of  herself.  He  did  not  concern  her  as  a  man  of 
personal  or  social  possibilities — merely  as  an  active 
originality,  who  was  kin  to  her  in  some  part  of  her 
nature.  Leaning  back  languidly,  she  was  eying 
him  closely  from  under  drooping  lids,  smiling,  too, 
in  an  unimportant  sort  of  way,  as  if  what  she  had 
said  was  but  a  trifle. 

Consummate  liar  and  comedian,  or  true  man 
and  no  pretender,  his  eyes  did  not  falter.  They 
were  absorbed  as  if  in  eager  study  of  a  theme. 

"  Yes,  yes,  that's  it ;  and  if  he  has  it,  what 
next  ?  "  said  he,  meaningly. 

"Well,  then,  opportunity,  joined  to  coolness, 
knowledge  of  men,  power  of  combination,  strategy, 
and " — she  paused,  and  a  purely  feminine  curi- 
osity impelled  her  to  add  suggestively — "  and  a 
woman." 

He  nodded.  "  And  a  woman,"  he  repeated 
after  her,  musingly,  and  not  turning  it  to  account 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          77 

cavalierly,  as  he  might  have  done.  She  saw  that 
he  was  taking  himself  with  a  simple  seriousness, 
that  appealed  to  her. 

"  You  may  put  strategy  out  of  the  definition, 
leaving  in  the  woman, "  she  added  ironically. 

He  felt  the  point,  and  her  demure  dart  struck 
home.  But  he  saw  what  an  ally  she  might  make. 
Tremendous  possibilities  moved  before  him.  His 
heart  beat  faster  than  it  did  yesterday  when  the 
old  sergeant  faced  him.  Here  was  beauty — he 
admired  that;  power — he  wished  for  that.  What 
might  he  not  accomplish,  no  matter  how  wild  his 
adventure,  with  this  wonderful  creature  as  his 
friend,  his  ally,  his —  he  paused,  remembering  this 
house  had  a  master  as  well  as  a  mistress. 

"  We  will  leave  in  the  woman,"  he  said  quietly, 
yet  with  a  sort  of  trouble  in  his  face. 

"  In  your  idea  ?  "  was  the  negligent  question. 

"Yes." 

"  Where  is  the  woman  ?  "  insinuated  the  soft, 
bewildering  voice. 

11  Here,"  he  answered  emotionally  ;  and  he 
believed  it  was  the  truth.  She  stood  looking  med- 
itatively out  of  the  window,  not  at  him. 

"  In  Pontiac  ? "  she  asked  presently,  turning 
with  a  childlike  surprise.  "  Ah  !  yes,  yes,  I 
know — one  of  the  people  ;  quite  suitable  for  Pon- 
tiac ;  but  is  it  wise  ?  She  is  pretty — but  is  it 
wise  ?  " 

She  was  adroitly  suggesting  Iilise  Malboir, 
whose  little  romance  she  had  discovered. 


78          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

"She  is  the  prettiest  and  wisest  lady  I  ever 
knew,  or  ever  hope  to  know,"  he  said  earnestly, 
laying  his  hand  upon  his  heart. 

"  How  far  will  your  idea  take  you  ?  "  she  asked 
evasively,  her  small  fingers  tightening  a  gold 
hairpin. 

"  To  Paris,  to  the  Tuileries  ! "  he  answered, 
rising  to  his  feet. 

"  And  you  start — from  Pontiac  ?  " 

"  What  difference,  Pontiac  or  Cannes,  like  the 
great  master  after  Elbe,"  he  said.  "The  prin- 
ciple is  the  same." 

"  The  money  ?  " 

"  It  will  come,"  he  answered.  "  I  have  friends 
— and  hopes." 

She  laughed  aloud.  She  was  suddenly  struck 
by  the  grotesqueness  of  the  situation.  But  she 
saw  how  she  had  hurt  him,  and  she  said  with 
instant  gravity  : 

"  Of  course,  with  those  one  may  go  far.  Sit 
down  and  tell  me  all  your  plans." 

He  was  about  to  comply,  when,  glancing  out 
of  the  window,  she  saw  the  old  sergeant,  now 
"General"  Lagroin,  and  Parpon  hastening  up  the 
walk.  Parpon  ambled  comfortably  beside  the 
old  man,  who  seemed  ten  years  younger  than  he 
had  done  the  day  before. 

"Your  army  and  cabinet,  monseigneur,"  she 
said,  with  a  pretty  mocking  gesture  of  salutation. 

He  glanced  at  her  reprovingly.  "  My  gen- 
eral, and  my  minister ;  as  brave  a  soldier,  and 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          79 

as  able  a  counsellor  as  ever  prince  had.  Ma- 
dame," he  added,  "  they  only  are  farceurs  who 
do  not  dare,  and  have  not  wisdom.  My  general 
has  scars  from  Auerstadt,  Austerlitz,  and  Water- 
loo ;  my  minister  is  feared — in  Pontiac.  Was  he 
not  the  trusted  friend  of  the  Grand  Seigneur,  as 
he  was  called  here,  the  father  of  your  Monsieur 
De  la  Riviere  ?  Has  he  yet  erred  in  advising  me  ? 
Have  we  yet  failed  ?  Madame,"  he  added,  a 
little  rhetorically,  "  as  we  have  begun,  so  will 
we  end,  true  to  our  principles,  and " 

"  And  gentlemen  of  the  king,"  she  quoted  pro- 
vokingly,  urging  him  on. 

"  Pardon,  gentlemen  of  the  Empire,  madame, 
as  time  and  our  lives  will  prove.  .  .  .  Madame, 
I  thank  you  for  your  violets  of  Sunday  last." 

She  admired  the  acumen  that  had  seized  the 
perfect  opportunity  to  thank  her  for  the  violets, 
the  badge  of  the  Great  Emperor. 

"My  hives  shall  not  be  empty  of  bees — or 
honey,"  she  said,  alluding  to  the  imperial  bees, 
and  she  touched  his  arm  in  a  pretty,  gracious 
fashion. 

"  Madame — ah,  madame  !  "  he  replied,  and  his 
eyes  grew  moist. 

She  bade  the  servant  admit  Lagroin  and  Par- 
pon.  They  bowed  profoundly,  first  to  Valmond, 
and  afterwards  to  Madame  Chalice.  She  noted 
the  distinction,  and  it  amused  her.  She  read  in  the 
old  man's  eye  the  soldier's  contempt  for  women, 
together  with  his  new-born  reverence  and  love 


80          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

for  Valmond.  Lagroin  was  still  dressed  in  the 
uniform  of  the  Old  Guard,  and  wore  on  his  breast 
the  sacred  ribbon  which  Valmond  had  given  him 
the  day  before. 

"  Well,  General  ?  "  said  Valmond. 

"  Sire,"  said  the  old  man,  "  they  mock  us  in  the 
streets.  Come  to  the  window,  sire." 

The  sire  fell  on  the  ears  of  Madame  Chalice 
like  a  mot  in  a  play ;  but  Valmond,  living  up  to 
his  part,  was  grave  and  considerate.  He  walked 
to  the  window,  and  the  old  man  said  : 

"  Sire,  do  you  not  hear  a  drum  ?  " 

A  faint  rat-tat  came  up  the  road.  Valmond 
bowed. 

"Sire,"  the  old  man  continued,  "I  would  not 
act  till  I  had  your  orders." 

"  Whence  comes  the  mockery  ?  "  Valmond 
asked  quietly. 

The  other  shook  his  head.  "  Sire,  I  do  not  know. 
But  I  remember  of  such  a  thing  happening  to  the 
Emperor.  It  was  in  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries, 
and  twenty-four  battalions  of  the  Old  Guard  filed 
past  our  great  chief.  Some  fool  sent  out  a  gamin 
dressed  in  regimentals  in  front  of  one  of  the 
bands,  and  then " 

"  Enough,  General,"  said  Valmond,  "  I  under- 
stand. I  will  go  down  into  the  village — eh,  mon- 
sieur ?  "  he  added,  turning  to  Parpon  with  im- 
pressive consideration. 

"Sire,  there  is  one  behind  these  mockers,"  an- 
swered the  little  man,  in  a  low  voice. 


WHEN   VALMOND   CAME  TO   PONTIAC          8 1 

Valmond  turned  toward  Madame  Chalice.  "  I 
know  my  enemy,  madame,"  he  said. 

"  Your  enemy  is  not  here,"  she  rejoined  kindly. 

He  stooped  over  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  and 
bowed  Lagroin  and  Parpon  to  the  door. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  "  I  thank  you.  Will  you 
accept  a  souvenir  of  him  whom  we  both  love, 
martyr  and  friend  of  France  ?  " 

He  drew  from  his  breast  a  small  painting  of 
Napoleon,  on  ivory,  and  handed  it  to  her. 

"  It  was  the  work  of  David,"  he  continued. 
"  You  will  find  it  well  authenticated.  Look  upon 
the  back  of  it."  She  looked,  and  her  heart  beat 
a  little  faster. 

"This  was  done  when  he  was  alive?"  she 
said. 

"  For  the  King  of  Rome,"  he  replied.  "  Adieu, 
madame.  Again  I  thank  you,  for  our  cause  as 
for  myself." 

He  turned  away.  She  let  him  go  as  far  as  the 
door. 

"  Wait,  wait,"  she  said  suddenly,  a  warm  light 
in  her  face,  for  her  imagination  had  been  touched, 
"  tell  me,  tell  me  the  truth.  Who  are  you  ?  Are 
you  really  a  Napoleon  ?  I  can  be  a  good  friend, 
a  constant  ally,  but  I  charge  you,  speak  the  truth 
to  me.  Are  you — ?"  She  stopped  abruptly. 
"  No,  no ;  do  not  tell  me,"  she  added  quickly.  "  If 
you  are  not  what  you  claim,  you  will  be  your  own 
executioner.  I  will  ask  for  no  further  proof  than 
did  Sergeant  Lagroin.  It  is  in  a  small  way  yet, 


82          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

but  you  are  playing  a  terrible  game.  Do  you 
realize  what  may  happen  ?  " 

"  In  the  hour  that  you  ask  a  last  proof  I  will 
give  it,"  he  said,  almost  fiercely.  "  I  go  now  to 
meet  an  enemy." 

"  If  I  should  change  that  enemy  into  a  friend — " 
she  hinted. 

"  Then  I  should  have  no  need  of  stratagem  or 
force." 

"  Force  ?  "  she  asked  suggestively.  The  drollery 
of  it  set  her  smiling. 

"  In  a  week  I  shall  have  five  hundred  men." 

"  Dreamer  !  "  she  thought,  and  shook  her  head 
dubiously  ;  but,  glancing  again  at  the  ivory  por- 
trait, her  mood  changed. 

"  Au  revoir,"she  said,  "come  and  tell  me  about 
the  mockers.  Success  go  with  you — sire." 

Yet  she  hardly  knew  whether  she  thought  him 
sire  or  sinner,  gentleman  or  comedian,  as  she 
watched  him  go  down  the  hill  with  Lagroin  and 
Parpon.  But  she  had  the  portrait.  How  did  he 
get  it  ?  No  matter,  it  was  hers  now. 

Curious  to  know  more  of  the  episode  in  the  vil- 
lage below,  she  ordered  her  carriage,  and  came 
driving  slowly  past  the  Louis  Quinze  at  an  excit- 
ing moment.  A  crowd  had  gathered,  and  boys 
and  even  women  were  laughing  and  singing  in 
ridicule  snatches  of,  "  Vive  Napoleon  !  "  For,  in 
derision  of  yesterday's  event,  a  small  boy,  tricked 
out  with  a  paper  cocked  hat  and  incongruous 
regimentals,  with  a  hobby-horse  between  his  legs, 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          83 

was  marching  up  and  down,  preceded  by  another 
lad,  who  played  a  toy  drum  in  mockery  of  La- 
groin.  The  children  had  been  well  rehearsed, 
for  even  as  Valmond  arrived  upon  the  scene,  La- 
groin  and  Parpon  on  either  side  of  him,  the  mock 
Valmond  was  bidding  the  drummer,  "  Play  up  the 
feet  of  the  army." 

The  crowd  parted  on  either  side,  silenced  and 
awed  by  the  look  of  potential  purpose  in  the  face 
of  this  yesterday's  hero.  The  old  sergeant's  glance 
was  full  of  fury,  Parpon's  of  a  devilish  sort  of  glee. 

Valmond  approached  the  lads. 

"  My  children,"  he  said  kindly,  "  you  have  not 
learned  your  lesson  well  enough.  You  shall  be 
taught."  He  took  the  paper  caps  from  their  heads. 
"  I  will  give  you  better  caps  than  these."  He  took 
the  hobby-horse,  the  drum,  and  the  tin  swords. 
"I  will  give  you  better  things  than  these."  He 
put  the  caps  on  the  ground,  added  the  toys  to  the 
heap,  and  Parpon,  stooping,  lighted  the  paper. 
Then  scattering  money  among  the  crowd,  and 
giving  some  silver  to  the  lads,  Valmond  stood 
looking  at  the  bonfire  for  a  moment,  and  pointing 
to  it  dramatically  said  : 

"  My  friends,  my  brothers,  Frenchmen,  we  will 
light  larger  fires  than  these.  Your  young  Seign- 
eur sought  to  do  me  honor  this  afternoon.  I 
thank  him,  and  he  shall  have  proof  of  my  affection 
in  good  time.  And  now  our  good  landlord's  wine 
is  free  to  you,  for  one  goblet  each. — My  children," 
he  added,  turning  to  the  little  mockers,  "  come  to 


84          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

me  to-morrow,  and  I  will  show  you  how  to  be 
soldiers.  My  general  shall  teach  you  what  to  do, 
and  I  will  teach  you  what  to  say." 

Valmond  had  conquered.  Almost  instantly 
there  arose  the  old  admiring  cries  of,  "  Vive  Napo- 
leon!" and  he  knew  that  he  had  regained  his 
ground.  Amid  the  pleasant  tumult  the  three 
entered  the  hotel  together,  like  people  in  a 
play. 

As  they  were  going  up  the  stairs,  the  dwarf 
whispered  to  the  old  soldier,  who  laid  his  hand 
fiercely  upon  the  fine  sword  at  his  side,  given  him 
that  morning  by  Valmond.  Looking  down,  La- 
groin  saw  the  young  Seigneur  maliciously  laugh- 
ing at  them,  as  if  in  delight  at  the  mischief  he 
had  caused. 

That  night,  at  nine  o'clock,  the  old  sergeant 
went  to  the  Seigneury,  knocked,  and  was  admitted 
to  a  room  where  were  seated  the  young  Seigneur, 
Medallion,  and  the  avocat. 

"Well,  General,"  said  De  la  Riviere,  rising  with 
great  formality,  "  what  may  I  do  to  serve  you  ? 
Will  you  join  our  party  ?  "  He  motioned  to  a  chair. 

The  old  man's  lips  were  set  and  stern,  and  he 
vouchsafed  no  reply  to  the  hospitable  request. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  said,  "to-day  you  threw  dirt  at 
my  great  master.  He  is  of  royal  blood,  and  he 
may  not  fight  you.  But  I,  monsieur,  his  general, 
demand  satisfaction — swords  or  pistols  !  " 

De  la  Riviere  sat  down,  leaned  back  in  his  chair, 
and  laughed.  Without  a  word  the  old  man  stepped 


WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC          85 

forward  and  struck  him  across  the  mouth  with  his 
red  cotton  handkerchief. 

"  Then  take  that,  monsieur,"  said  he,  "  from  one 
who  fought  for  the  First  Napoleon,  and  will  fight 
for  this  Napoleon  against  the  tongue  of  slander 
and  the  acts  of  fools.  I  killed  two  Prussians  once 
for  saying  that  the  Great  Emperor's  shirt  stuck  out 
below  his  waistcoat.  You'll  find  me  at  the  Louis 
Quinze,"  he  added,  before  De  la  Riviere,  choking 
with  wrath,  could  do  more  than  get  to  his  feet ; 
and,  wheeling,  he  left  the  room. 

The  young  Seigneur  would  have  followed  him, 
but  the  avocat  laid  a  restraining  hand  upon  his 
arm,  and  Medallion  said  :  "  Dear  Seigneur,  see, 
you  can't  fight  him.  The  parish  would  only 
laugh." 

De  la  Riviere  accepted  the  advice,  and  on  Sun- 
day, over  the  coffee,  unburdened  the  tale  to 
Madame  Chalice.  Contrary  to  his  expectations, 
she  laughed  a  great  deal,  then  soothed  his  wounded 
feelings,  and  counselled  him  as  Medallion  had 
done.  And  because  Valmond  commanded  the  old 
sergeant  to  silence,  the  matter  ended  for  the  mo- 
ment. But  it  would  have  its  hour  yet,  and  Val- 
mond knew  this  as  well  as  the  young  Seigneur. 


CHAPTER  VII 

IT  was  no  vain  boast  of  Valmond's  that  he 
would,  or  could,  have  five  hundred  followers  in 
two  weeks.  Lagroin  and  Parpon  were  busy,  each 
in  his  own  way — Lagroin,  open,  bluff,  impera- 
tive ;  Parpon,  silent,  acute,  shrewd.  Two  days 
before  the  feast  of  St.  John  the  Baptist,  the  two 
made  a  special  tour  through  the  parish  for  certain 
recruits.  If  these  could  be  enlisted,  a  great  many 
men  of  this  and  other  parishes  would  follow.  They 
were  Muroc  the  charcoalman,  Duclosse  the  meal- 
man,  Lajeunesse  the  blacksmith,  and  Garotte  the 
limeburner,  all  men  of  note,  after  their  kind,  with 
influence  and  individuality. 

These  four  comrades  were  often  to  be  found 
together  about  the  noon  hour  in  the  shop  of 
Jos6  Lajeunesse.  They  formed  the  coterie  of  the 
humble,  even  as  the  Curb's  coterie  represented  the 
aristocracy  of  Pontiac — with  Medallion  as  a  con- 
necting link. 

Lagroin  chafed  that  he  must  be  recruiting  ser- 
geant and  general  also.  But  it  gave  him  comfort 
to  remember  that  the  Great  Emperor  had  not  at 
times  disdained  to  play  the  same  role ;  that,  after 
Friedland,  he  himself  had  been  taken  into  the  Old 
Guard  by  the  Emperor ;  that  Davoust  had  called 


WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC          87 

him  brother ;  that  Ney  had  eaten  supper  and  slept 
with  him  under  the  same  blanket.  Parpon  would 
gladly  have  done  this  work  zJone,  but  he  knew 
that  Lagroin  in  his  regimentals  would  be  useful. 

Arches  and  poles  were  being  put  up  to  be  deco- 
rated against  the  feast-day,  and  piles  of  wood  for 
bonfires  were  arranged  at  points  on  the  hills  round 
the  village.  Cheer  and  good-will  were  everywhere, 
for  a  fine  harvest  was  in  view,  and  this  feast-day 
always  brought  gladness  and  simple  revelling. 
Parish  interchanged  with  parish  ;  but,  because  it 
was  so  remote,  Pontiac  was  its  own  goal  of  pleas- 
ure, and  few  fared  forth,  though  others  came  from 
Ville  Bambord  and  elsewhere  to  join  the  f$te. 
As  Lagroin  and  the  dwarf  approached  to  the  door 
of  the  smithy,  they  heard  the  loud  laugh  of  La- 
jeunesse. 

"Good!"  said  Parpon.  "Hear  how  he  tears 
his  throat." 

"  If  he  has  sense  I'll  make  a  captain  of  him," 
remarked  Lagroin,  consequentially. 

"  You  shall  beat  him  into  a  captain  on  his  own 
anvil,"  rejoined  the  little  man. 

They  entered  the  shop.  Lajeunesse  was  lean- 
ing on  his  bellows,  laughing,  and  holding  an  iron 
in  the  spitting  fire  ;  Muroc  was  seated  on  the  edge 
of  the  cooling  tub,  and  Duclosse  was  resting  on  a 
bag  of  his  excellent  meal ;  Garotte  was  the  only 
missing  member  of  the  quartette. 

Muroc  was  a  wag,  a  grim  sort  of  fellow,  black 
from  his  trade,  with  big  rollicking  eyes.  At  times 


88          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

he  was  not  easy  to  please,  but  if  he  took  a  liking  he 
was  for  joking  at  once.  He  approved  of  Parpon, 
and  never  lost  a  chance  of  sharpening  his  humor 
on  the  dwarfs  impish  whetstone  of  a  tongue. 

"  Lord  !  Lord  !  "  he  cried,  with  feigned  awe, 
getting  to  his  feet  at  sight  of  the  two.  Then  he 
said  to  his  comrades  :  "Children,  children,  off  with 
your  hats.  Here  is  Monsieur  Talleyrand,  if  I'm 
not  mistaken.  Onto  your  feet,  mealman,  and  dust 
your  stomach.  Lajeunesse,  wipe  your  face  with 
your  leather.  Duck  your  heads,  stupids  !  " 

With  mock  solemnity  the  three  greeted  Parpon 
and  Lagroin.  The  old  sergeant's  face  flushed,  and 
his  hand  dropped  to  his  sword  ;  but  he  had  prom- 
ised Parpon  to  say  nothing  till  he  got  his  cue,  and 
he  would  keep  his  word.  So  he  disposed  himself 
in  an  attitude  of  martial  attention.  The  dwarf 
bowed  to  the  others  with  a  face  of  as  great  gravity 
as  the  charcoalman's,  and  waving  his  hand  said  : 

"  Keep  your  seats,  my  children,  and  God  be  with 
you.  You  are  right,  smutty-face  ;  I  am  Monsieur 
Talleyrand,  minister  of  the  Crown." 

"  The  devil,  you  say  ! "  cried  the  mealman. 

"  Tut,  tut,"  said  Lajeunesse,  chaffing,  "  haven't 
you  heard  the  news  ?  The  devil  is  dead  !  " 

Parpon's  hand  went  into  his  pocket.  "  My  poor 
orphan,"  said  he,  trotting  over  and  thrusting  some 
silver  into  the  blacksmith's  pocket,  "  I  see  he 
hasn't  left  you  well  off.  Accept  my  humble  gift." 

"  The  devil  dead !  "  cried  Muroc,  with  a  loud 
guffaw  ;  "  then  I'll  go  marry  his  daughter  now." 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          89 

The  dwarf  climbed  up  on  a  pile  of  untired 
wheels,  and,  with  an  elfish  grin,  began  singing. 
Instantly  the  three  humorists  became  silent,  and 
listened,  the  blacksmith  pumping  his  bellows 
mechanically  the  while. 

"  O  mealman  white,  give  me  your  daughter, 
Oh,  give  her  to  me,  your  sweet  Suzon  ! 
O  mealman  dear,  you  can  do  no  better, 
For  I  have  a  chateau  at  Malmaison. 

"  Black  charcoalman,  you  shall  not  have  her, 

She  shall  not  marry  you,  my  Suzon — 
A  bag  of  meal  and  a  sack  of  carbon  ! 

Non,  non,  non,  non,  non,  non,  non,  non  f 
Go  look  at  your  face,  my  fanfaron, 

My  daughter  and  you  would  be  night  and  day. 

Your  face  would  frighten  the  crows  away. 
Non,  non,  non,  non,  non,  non,  non,  non, 

You  shall  not  marry  her,  my  Suzon." 

A  better  weapon  than  his  waspish  tongue  was 
Parpon's  voice,  for  it,  before  all,  was  persuasive.  A 
few  years  before,  none  of  them  had  ever  heard  him 
sing.  An  accident  discovered  it,  and  afterwards 
he  sang  for  them  but  little,  and  never  when  it 
was  expected  of  him.  He  might  be  the  minister 
of  a  dauphin,  or  a  fool,  but  he  was  now  only  the 
mysterious  Parpon  who  thrilled  them.  All  the  soul 
cramped  in  the  small  body  was  showing  in  his 
eyes,  as  on  that  day  when  he  had  sung  at  the 
Louis  Quinze. 

A  face,  unseen  by  the  others,  suddenly  appeared 


90          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

at  a  little  door  just  opposite  him.  It  belonged 
to  Madelinette,  the  daughter  of  Lajeunesse,  who 
had  a  voice  of  merit.  More  than  once  the  dwarf 
had  stopped  to  hear  her  singing  as  he  passed  the 
smithy.  She  sang  only  the  old  chansons  and  the 
lays  of  the  voyageurs,  with  a  far  greater  sweet- 
ness and  richness,  however,  than  any  in  the  par- 
ish ;  and  the  Cur6  could  detect  her  among  all  others 
at  mass.  She  had  been  taught  her  notes,  but  that 
had  only  opened  up  possibilities,  and  fretted  her 
till  she  was  unhappy.  What  she  felt  she  could 
not  put  into  her  singing,  for  the  machinery,  un- 
known and  tyrannical,  was  not  hers.  Twice  be- 
fore she  had  heard  Parpon  sing — at  mass  when  the 
miller's  wife  was  buried,  and  he,  forgetting  the 
world,  had  poured  forth  all  his  beautiful  voice  ;  and 
on  that  notable  night  on  the  veranda  of  the  Louis 
Ouinze.  If  he  would  but  teach  her  those  songs 
of  his,  give  her  that  sound  of  an  organ  in  her 
throat ! 

Parpon  guessed  what  she  thought.  Well,  he 
would  see  what  could  be  done,  if  the  blacksmith 
would  join  Valmond's  standard. 

He  stopped  singing. 

"  That's  as  good  as  dear  Caron,  the  vivandiere 
of  the  Third  Corps.  Blood  o'  my  body,  I  believe  it's 
better — almost !  "  said  Lagroin,  nodding  his  head 
patronizingly.  "  She  dragged  me  from  under  the 
mare  of  a  damned  Russian  that  cut  me  down, 
before  he  got  my  bayonet  in  his  liver.  Caron  ! 
Caron  !  ah,  yes,  brave  Caron,  my  dear  Caron  ! " 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          QI 

said  the  old  man,  smiling  through  the  golden  light 
that  the  song  had  made  for  him,  as  he  looked 
behind  the  curiain.  of  the .<£fiacsu 

Parpon's  pleasant  ridicule  was  not  lost  on  the 
charcoalman  and  the  mealman,  but  neither  was 
the  singing  wasted,  and  their  faces  were  touched 
with  admiration,  while  the  blacksmith,  with  a 
sigh,  turned  to  his  fire  and  blew  the  bellows 
softly. 

"  Blacksmith,"  said  Parpon,  "you  have  a  bird 
that  sings." 

"  IVe  no  bird  that  sings  like  that,  though  she 
has  pretty  notes,  my  bird."  He  sighed  again. 
" '  Come,  blacksmith,'  said  the  Count  Lassone, 
when  he  came  here  a-fishing,  '  that's  a  voice  for  a 
palace,'  said  he.  '  Take  it  out  of  the  woods  and 
teach  it,1  said  he,  '  and  it  will  have  all  Paris  follow- 
ing it.'  That  to  me,  a  poor  blacksmith,  with  only 
my  bread  and  sour  milk,  and  a  hundred  dollars  a 
year  or  so,  and  a  sup  of  brandy  when  I  can  get  it." 

The  charcoalman  spoke  up.  "  You'll  not  forget 
the  indulgences  folks  give  you  more  than  the  pay 
for  setting  the  dropped  shoe — true  gifts  of  God, 
bought  with  good  butter  and  eggs  at  the  holy 
auction,  blacksmith.  I  gave  you  two  myself.  You 
have  your  blessings,  Lajeunesse." 

"So,  and  no  one  to  use  the  indulgences  but  you 
and  Madelinette,  giant,"  said  the  fat  mealman. 

"  Ay,  thank  the  Lord,  we've  done  well  that  way," 
said  the  blacksmith,  drawing  himself  up,  for  he 
loved  nothing  better  than  to  be  called  the  giant, 


92          WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

though  he  was  known  to  many  as  petit  enfant,  in 
irony  of  his  size. 

Lagroin  was  becoming  impatient.  He  could  not 
see  the  drift  of  this,  and  he  was  about  to  whisper 
to  Parpon,  when  the  little  man  sent  him  a  look, 
commanding  silence,  and  he  fretted  on  dumbly. 

"See,  my  blacksmith, "said  Parpon,  "your bird 
shall  be  taught  to  sing,  and  to  Paris  she  shall  go 
by  and  by." 

"  Such  foolery  ! "  said  Duclosse. 

"  What's  in  your  noddle,  Parpon  ?  "  cried  the 
charcoalman. 

The  blacksmith  looked  at  Parpon,  his  face  all 
puzzled  eagerness,  while  another  face  at  the  door 
grew  pale  with  suspense.  Parpon  quickly  turned 
towards  it. 

"  See  here,  Madelinette,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 
The  girl  stepped  inside,  and  came  to  her  father. 
Lajeunesse's  arm  ran  round  her  shoulder.  There 
was  no  corner  of  his  heart  into  which  she  had  not 
crept. 

"  Out  with  it,  Parpon,"  called  the  blacksmith, 
hoarsely,  for  the  daughter's  voice  had  followed  her- 
self into  those  farthest  corners  of  his  rugged 
nature. 

"  I  will  teach  her  to  sing  first ;  she  shall  go  to 
Quebec,  and  afterwards  to  Paris,  my  friend,"  he 
answered. 

The  girl's  eyes  were  dilating  with  great  joy. 
"  Ah,  Parpon,  good  Parpon  !  "  she  whispered. 

"  But  Paris  !    Paris !     There's  gossip  for  you, 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          93 

thick  as  mortar,"  cried  the  charcoalman,  and  the 
mealman's  fingers  beat  a  jeering  tattoo  on  his 
stomach. 

Parpon  waved  his  hand.  "  Look  to  the  weevil 
in  your  meal,  Duclosse  ;  and  you,  smutty-face,  leave 
true  things  to  your  betters.  Mind  what  I  say, 
blacksmith,"  he  added,  "she  shall  go  to  Quebec, 
and  after  that  to  Paris."  Here  he  got  off  the  wheels 
and  stepped  out  into  the  centre  of  the  shop.  "  Our 
master  will  do  that  for  you.  I  swear  for  him,  and 
who  can  say  that  Parpon  was  ever  a  liar  ?  " 

The  blacksmith's  hand  tightened  on  his  daugh- 
ter's shoulder.  He  was  trembling  with  excitement. 

"Is  it  true?  Is  it  true?"  he  asked,  and  the 
sweat  stood  out  on  his  forehead. 

"  He  sends  this  for  Madelinette,"  answered  the 
dwarf,  handing  over  a  little  bag  of  gold  to  the  girl, 
who  drew  back.  But  Parpon  went  close  to  her 
and  gently  forced  it  into  her  hands. 

"Open  it,"  he  said.  She  did  so,  and  the  black- 
smith's eyes  gloated  on  the  gold.  Muroc  and  Du- 
closse drew  near,  and  so  they  stood  for  a  little 
while,  all  looking  and  exclaiming. 

Presently  Lajeunesse  scratched  his  head.  "  No- 
body does  nothing  for  nothing,"  said  he.  "  What 
horse  do  I  shoe  for  this  ?  " 

"  La,  la ! "  said  the  charcoalman,  sticking  a 
thumb  in  the  blacksmith's  side,  "you  only  give 
him  the  happy  hand — like  that !  " 

Duclosse  was  more  serious.  "  It  is  the  will  of 
God  that  you  become  a  marshal  or  a  duke,"  he 


94          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

said  wheezingly.  "  You  can't  say  no ;  it  is  the 
will  of  God,  and  you  must  bear  it  like  a  man." 

The  child  saw  further  ;  perhaps  the  artistic  strain 
in  her  gave  her  keener  reasoning. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  Monsieur  Valmond  wants 
you  for  a  soldier." 

"Wants  me?"  he  roared  in  astonishment. 
"Who's  to  shoe  the  horses  a  week  days,  and 
throw  the  weight  o'  Sundays  after  mass  ?  Who's 
to  handle  a  stick  for  the  Cure*  when  there's  fight- 
ing among  the  river-men  ?  But,  there,  la,  la  ! 
many  a  time  my  wife,  my  good  Florienne,  said  to 
me, '  Jose* — Jose*  Lajeunesse,  with  a  chest  like  yours, 
you  ought  to  be  a  corporal  at  least.'  " 

Parpon  beckoned  to  Lagroin,  and  nodded. 

"  Corporal  !  corporal !  "  said  Lagroin  ;  "  in  a 
week  you  shall  be  a  lieutenant,  and  a  month 
shall  make  you  a  captain,  and  maybe  better  than 
that ! " 

"  Better  than  that — bagosh  ! "  cried  the  char- 
coalman,  in  surprise,  proudly  using  the  innocuous 
English  oath. 

"  Better  than  that ;  sutler,  maybe  ?  "  said  the 
mealman,  smacking  his  lips. 

"  Better  than  that,"  replied  Lagroin,  swelling 
with  importance.  "  Ay,  ay,  my  dears,  great 
things  are  for  you.  I  command  the  army,  and 
I  have  free  hand  from  my  master.  Ah,  what 
joy  to  serve  a  Napoleon  once  again  !  What  joy  ! 
Lord,  how  I  remember " 

"  Better  than  that— eh  ? "   persisted   Duclosse> 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          95 

perspiring,  the  meal  on  his  face  making  a  sort  of 
paste. 

"A  general  or  a  governor,  my  children," said 
Lagroin.  "  First  in,  first  served.  Best  men,  best 
pickings.  But  every  man  must  love  his  chief,  and 
serve  him  with  blood  and  bayonet,  and  march  o* 
nights  if  need,  and  limber  up  the  guns  if  need,  and 
shoe  a  horse  if  need,  and  draw  a  cork  if  need,  and 
cook  a  potato  if  need,  and  be  a  hussar,  or  a  tirail- 
leur, or  a  trencher,  or  a  general,  if  need.  But  yes, 
that's  it ;  no  pride  but  the  love  of  France  and  the 
cause,  and " 

"  And  Monsieur  Valmond,"  said  the  charcoal- 
man,  slyly. 

"  And  Monsieur  the  Emperor  ! "  cried  Lagroin, 
savagely. 

He  caught  Parpen's  eye,  and  instantly  his  hand 
went  to  his  pocket. 

"  Ah,  he  is  a  comrade,  that !  Nothing  is  too 
good  for  his  friends,  for  his  soldiers.  See  ! "  he 
added  more  calmly. 

He  took  from  his  pocket  ten  gold  pieces. 
"'These  are  bagatelles,'  said  his  Excellency  to 
me ;  '  but  tell  my  friends,  Monsieur  Muroc,  and 
Monsieur  Duclosse,  and  Monsieur  Lajeunesse,  and 
Monsieur  Garotte,  that  they  are  buttons  for  the 
coats  of  my  sergeants,  and  that  my  captains'  coats 
have  ten  times  as  many  buttons.  Tell  them,'  said 
he,  '  that  my  friends  shall  share  my  fortunes  ;  that 
France  needs  us  ;  that  Pontiac  shall  be  called  the 
nest  of  heroes.  Tell  them  that  I  will  come  to 


96          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

them  at  nine  o'clock  to-night,  and  we  will  swear 
fidelity/  " 

"And  a  damned  good  speech  too — bagosh!" 
cried  the  mealman,  his  fingers  hungering  for  the 
gold  pieces. 

"  We're  to  be  captains  pretty  soon — eh  ? " 
asked  Muroc. 

"  As  quick  as  I've  taught  you  to  handle  a  com- 
pany," answered  Lagroin,  with  importance. 

"  I  was  a  patriot  in  '37,"  said  Muroc.  "  I  went 
against  the  English  ;  I  held  a  bridge  for  two 
hours.  I  have  my  musket  yet." 

"I  am  a  patriot  now,"  urged  Duclosse.  "Why 
the  devil  not  the  English  first,  then  go  to  France, 
and  lick  the  Bourbons  ! " 

"  They're  a  skittish  lot,  the  Bourbons  ;  they 
might  take  it  in  their  heads  to  fight,"  suggested 
Muroc,  with  a  grin. 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  expect  ?  "  roared  the 
blacksmith,  blowing  the  bellows  hard  in  his  excite- 
ment, one  arm  still  round  his  daughter's  shoulder. 
"  D'you  think  we're  going  to  play  leap-frog  into 
the  Tuileries  ?  There's  blood  to  let,  and  we're  to 
let  it ! " 

"Good,  my  leeches!"  cried  the  dwarf,  "you 
shall  have  blood  to  suck.  But  we'll  leave  the 
English  be.  France  first,  then  our  dogs  will  take 
a  snap  at  the  flag  on  the  citadel  yonder."  He 
nodded  in  the  direction  of  Quebec. 

Lagroin  then  put  five  gold  pieces  each  in  the 
hands  of  Muroc  and  Duclosse,  and  said  : 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          97 

"I  here  take  you  into  the  service  of  Prince 
Valmond  Napoleon,  and  you  do  hereby  swear  to 
serve  him  loyally,  even  to  the  shedding  of  your 
blood,  for  his  honor  and  the  honor  of  France  ;  and 
you  do  also  vow  to  require  a  like  loyalty  and  obe- 
dience of  all  men  under  your  command.  Swear." 

There  was  a  slight  pause,  for  the  old  man's 
voice  had  the  ring  of  a  fatal  earnestness.  It  was 
no  farce,  but  a  real  thing. 

"Swear,"  he  said  again.  "Raise  your  right 
hand." 

"  Done  !  "  said  Muroc.  "  To  the  devil  with  the 
charcoal.  I'll  go  wash  my  face." 

"  There's  my  hand  on  it,"  added  Duclosse  ;  "  but 
that  rascal  Petrie  will  get  my  trade,  and  I'd  rather 
be  strung  by  the  Bourbons  than  that." 

"  Till  I've  no  more  wind  in  my  bellows," 
responded  Lajeunesse,  raising  his  hand,  "if  he 
keeps  faith  with  my  Madelinette." 

"On  the  honor  of  a  soldier,"  said  Lagroin,  and 
he  crossed  himself. 

*'  God  save  us  all  ! "  cried  Parpon. 

Obeying  a  motion  of  the  dwarfs  hand,  Lagroin 
then  drew  from  his  pocket  a  flask  of  cognac,  with 
five  little  tin  cups  fitting  into  each  other.  Hand- 
ing one  to  each,  he  poured  them  brimming  full. 
Filling  his  own,  he  spilled  a  little  in  the  steely  dust 
of  the  smithy  floor.  All  did  the  same,  though  they 
knew  not  why. 

"  What's  that  for  ?  "  asked  the  mealman. 

"To  show  the  Little  Corporal,  dear  Corporal 
7 


98          WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

Violet,  and  my  comrades  of  the  Old  Guard,  that 
we  don't  forget  them,"  cried  Lagroin. 

He  drank  slowly,  holding  his  head  far  back, 
and  as  he  brought  it  straight  again,  he  swung 
on  his  heel,  for  two  tears  were  racing  down  his 
cheeks. 

The  mealman  wiped  his  eyes  in  sympathy  ;  the 
charcoalman  shook  his  head  at  the  blacksmith,  as 
though  to  say,  "  Poor  devil !  "  and  Parpon  straight- 
way filled  their  glasses  again.  Madelinette  took 
the  flask  to  the  old  sergeant.  He  looked  at  her 
kindly,  and  patted  her  shoulder.  Then  he  raised 
his  glass. 

"  Ah,  the  brave  Caron,  the  dear  Lucette  Carbn  ! 
Ah,  the  time  she  dragged  me  from  under  the 
Russian  mare  !  "  he  said.  He  smiled  into  the 
distance.  "  Who  can  tell  ?  Perhaps,  perhaps — 
again  ! " 

Then,  all  at  once,  as  if  conscious  of  the  pitiful 
humor  of  his  meditations,  he  came  to  his  feet, 
straightened  his  shoulders,  and  cried  : 

"To  her  we  love  best !" 

The  charcoalman  drank  and  smacked  his  lips. 
"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  looking  into  the  cup  admir- 
ingly, "  like  mother's  milk  that !  White  of  my 
eye,  but  I  do  love  her  !  " 

The  mealman  cocked  his  eye  toward  the  open 
door.  "  £lise  !  "  he  said  sentimentally,  and  drank. 

The  blacksmith  kissed  his  daughter,  and  his 
hand  rested  on  her  head  as  he  lifted  the  cup,  but 
he  said  never  a  word. 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC          99 

Parpon  took  one  sip,  then  poured  his  liquor 
upon  the  ground,  as  though  down  there  was  what 
he  loved  best ;  but  his  eyes  were  turned  to  Dal- 
grothe  Mountain,  which  he  could  see  through  the 
open  door. 

"  France  !  "  cried  the  old  soldier  stoutly,  and 
tossed  off  the  liquor. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

1  HAT  night  Valmond  and  his  three  new  re- 
cruits, to  whom  Garotte  the  limeburner  had  been 
added,  met  in  the  smithy  and  swore  fealty  to  the 
great  cause.  Lajeunesse,  by  virtue  of  his  position 
in  the  parish,  and  his  former  military  experience, 
was  made  a  captain,  and  the  others,  sergeants  of 
companies  yet  unnamed  and  unformed.  The 
limeburner  was  a  dry,  thin  man,  of  no  particular 
stature,  who  coughed  a  little  between  his  sentences, 
and  had  a  habit,  when  not  talking,  of  humming  to 
himself,  as  if  in  apology  for  his  silence.  This 
humming  had  no  sort  of  tune  or  purpose,  and 
was  but  a  vague  musical  sputtering.  He  almost 
perilled  the  gravity  of  the  oath  they  all  took  to 
Valmond,  by  this  idiosyncrasy.  His  occupation 
gave  him  a  lean,  arid  look  ;  his  hair  was  crisp  and 
straight,  shooting  out  at  all  points,  and  it  flew  to 
meet  his  cap  as  if  it  were  alive.  He  was  a  genius 
after  a  fashion,  too,  and  at  all  the  feasts  and  on 
national  holidays  he  invented  some  new  feature 
in  the  entertainments.  With  an  eye  for  the  gro- 
tesque, he  had  formed  a  company  of  jovial  blades, 
called  Kalathumpians,  after  the  manner  of  the 
mimes  of  old  times  in  his  beloved  Dauphiny. 
"  All  right,  all  right,"  he  said,  when  Lagroin, 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        IOI 

in  the  half-lighted  blacksmith  shop,  asked  him  to 
swear  allegiance  and  service.  "  '  Brigadier,  vous 
avez  raison? "  he  added,  quoting  a  well-known 
song.  Then  he  hummed  a  little  and  coughed. 
"  We  must  have  a  show  " — he  hummed  again — 
"we  must  tickle  'em  up  a  bit — ho! — touch  'em 
where  they're  silly  with  a  fiddle  and  fife — raddy 
dee  dee,  ra  dee,  ra  dee,  ra  dee  ! "  Then,  to  Val- 
mond,  "  We  gave  the  fools  who  fought  the  Little 
Corporal  sour  apples  in  Dauphiny,  my  dear  ! " 

He  followed  this  extraordinary  speech  with  a  plan 
for  making  an  ingenious  coup  for  Valmond,  when 
his  Kalathumpians  paraded  the  streets  on  the 
evening  of  St.  John's  Day. 

With  hands  clasped  the  new  recruits  sang : 

"  When  from  the  war  we  come, 

Allans  gai  / 

Oh,  when  we  ride  back  home, 
If  we  be  spared  that  day, 

Ma  luron  lurette^ 
We'll  laugh  our  scars  away, 

Ma  luron  lure, 
We'll  lift  the  latch  and  stay, 

Ma  luron  lurt" 

The  huge  frame  of  the  blacksmith,  his  love  for 
his  daughter,  his  simple  faith  in  this  new  creed  of 
patriotism,  his  tenderness  of  heart,  joined  to  his 
irascible  disposition,  spasmodic  humor,  and  strong 
arm,  roused  in  Valmond  an  immediate  liking, 
as  keen,  after  its  kind,  as  that  he  had  for  the  Cur6 


102        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

and  the  avocat.  With  both  of  these  he  had  had 
long  talks  of  late,  on  everything  but  purely  personal 
matters.  They  would  have  thought  it  a  gross 
breach  of  etiquette  to  question  him  on  that  which 
he  avoided.  His  admiration  of  them  was  com- 
plete, although  he  sometimes  laughed  half  sadly, 
half  whimsically,  as  he  thought  of  their  simple 
faith  in  him. 

At  dusk  on  the  eve  of  St.  John  the  Baptist's  Day, 
after  a  long  conference  with  Lagroin  and  Parpon, 
Valmond  went  through  the  village,  and  came  to 
the  smithy  to  talk  with  Lajeunesse.  Those  who 
recognized  him  in  passing  took  off  their  bonnets 
rouges,  some  saying,"  Good  night,  your  Highness," 
some,  "  How  are  you,  monseigneur  ?  "  some,  "  God 
bless  your  Excellency,"  and  a  batch  of  bacchana- 
lian river-men,  who  had  been  drinking,  called  him 
"  General,"  and  insisted  on  embracing  him,  offer- 
ing him  cognac  from  their  tin  flasks. 

The  appearance  among  them  of  old  Madame 
Dggardy  shifted  the  good-natured  attack.  For 
many  a  year,  winter  and  summer,  she  had  come 
and  gone  in  the  parish,  all  rags  and  tatters,  wear- 
ing men's  knee-boots  and  cap,  her  gray  hair 
hanging  down  in  straggling  curls,  her  lower  lip 
thrust  out  fiercely,  her  quick  eyes  wandering  to 
and  fro,  and  her  sharp  tongue,  like  Parpon's, 
clearing  a  path  before  her  whichever  way  she 
turned.  On  her  arm  she  carried  a  little  basket  of 
cakes  and  confitures,  and  these  she  dreamed  she 
sold,  for  they  were  few  who  bought  of  Crazy  Joan. 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        103 

The  stout  stick  she  carried  was  as  compelling  as 
her  tongue,  so  that  when  the  river-men  surrounded 
her  in  amicable  derision,  it  was  used  freely,  and 
with  a  heart  all  kindness — "  for  the  good  of  their 
souls,"  she  said,  "  since  the  Cure*  was  too  mild, 
Mary  in  heaven  bless  him  high  and  low !  " 

For  Madame  De*gardy  was  the  Cure*'s  champion 
everywhere,  and  he  in  turn  was  tender  toward 
the  homeless  body,  whose  history  even  to  him  was 
obscure,  save  in  the  few  particulars  that  he  had 
given  to  Valmond  the  last  time  they  had  met. 

In  her  youth  Madame  D£gardy  was  pretty  and 
much  admired.  Her  lover  had  deserted  her,  and 
in  a  fit  of  mad  indignation  and  despair,  she  had 
fled  from  the  village,  and  vanished  no  one  knew 
whither,  though  it  had  been  declared  by  a  wander- 
ing hunter  that  she  had  been  seen  in  the  far-off 
hills  that  march  into  the  south,  and  that  she  lived 
there  with  an  uncouth  mountaineer,  who  had 
himself  long  been  an  outlaw  from  his  kind.  But 
this  had  been  mere  gossip,  and  after  twenty-five 
years  she  came  back  to  Pontiac,  a  half-mad  crea- 
ture, and  took  up  the  thread  of  her  life  alone  ;  and 
Parpon  and  the  Cure*  saw  that  she  suffered  for 
nothing  in  the  hard  winters. 

Valmond  left  the  river-men  to  the  tyranny  of  her 
tongue  and  stick,  and  came  on  to  where  the  red 
light  of  the  forge  showed  through  the  smithy  win- 
dow. As  he  neared  the  door,  he  heard  singing. 
The  voice  was  singularly  sweet,  and  another  of 
commoner  calibre  was  joining  in  the  refrain  : 


104       WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

"  *  Oh,  traveller,  see  where  the  red  sparks  rise. 

(Fly  away,  my  heart,  fly  away  !) 
But  dark  is  the  mist  in  the  traveller's  eyes. 

(Fly  away,  my  heart,  fly  away  !) 
1  Oh,  traveller,  see,  far  down  the  gorge, 
The  crimson  light  from  my  father's  forge. 

(Fly  away,  my  heart,  fly  away  !) 

"  *  Oh,  traveller,  see  you  thy  true  love's  grace.' 

(Fly  away,  my  heart,  fly  away  !) 
And  now  there  is  joy  in  the  traveller's  face. 

(Fly  away,  my  heart,  fly  away  !) 
Oh,  wild  does  he  ride  through  the  rain  and  mire, 
To  greet  his  love  by  the  smithy  fire  ! 
(Fly  away,  my  heart,  fly  away  !)  " 

In  accompaniment  some  one  was  beating  softly 
on  the  anvil,  and  the  bellows  were  blowing  rhyth- 
mically. He  lingered  for  a  moment,  loath  to  in- 
terrupt the  song,  and  then  softly  opened  the  upper 
half  of  the  door,  for  it  was  divided  horizontally, 
and  leaned  over  the  lower  part. 

Beside  the  bellows,  her  sleeves  rolled  up,  her 
glowing  face  cowled  in  her  black  hair,  beauti- 
ful and  strong,  stood  £lise  Malboir,  pushing  a 
rod  of  steel  into  the  sputtering  coals.  Over  the 
anvil,  with  a  small  bar  caught  in  a  pair  of  tongs, 
hovered  Madelinette,  beating,  almost  tenderly,  the 
red-hot  point  of  the  steel.  The  sound  of  the 
iron  hammer  on  the  malleable  metal  was  as  muf- 
fled silver,  and  the  sparks  flew  out  like  jocund 
fire-flies.  She  was  making  two  hooks  for  her 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        105 

kitchen  wall,  for  she  was  clever  at  the  forge,  and 
could  shoe  a  horse  if  she  were  let  to  do  so.  She 
was  but  half-turned  to  Valmond,  but  he  caught  the 
pure  outlines  of  her  face  and  neck,  her  extreme 
delicacy  of  expression,  which  had  a  subtle,  pathetic 
refinement,  in  acute  contrast  to  the  quick,  abun- 
dant health,  the  warm  energy,  the  half-defiant 
look  of  £lise.  It  was  an  inspiring  picture  of  labor 
and  life. 

A  dozen  thoughts  ran  through  Valmond's  mind. 
He  was  responsible,  to  an  extent,  for  the  happi- 
ness of  these  two  young  creatures.  He  had  prom- 
ised to  make  a  songstress  of  the  one,  to  send  her 
to  Paris,  had  roused  in  her  wild,  ambitious  hopes 
of  fame  and  fortune — dreams  that,  in  any  case, 
could  be  little  like  the  real  thing  :  fanciful  visions 
of  conquest  and  golden  living,  where  never  the 
breath  of  her  hawthorn  and  wild  violets  entered  ; 
only  sick  perfumes  as  from  an  odalisque's  fan,  amid 
the  enervating  splendor  of  indulgent  boudoirs — 
for  she  had  read  of  these  things. 

In  a  vague,  graceless  sort  of  way,  he  had 
worked  upon  the  quick  emotions  of  6lise.  Every 
little  touch  of  courtesy  had  been  returned  to  him 
in  half-shy,  half-ardent  glances  ;  in  flushes  which 
the  kiss  he  had  given  her  the  first  day  of  their 
meeting  had  made  the  signs  of  an  intermittent 
fever  ;  in  modest  yet  alluring  waylayings  ;  in  rest- 
less nights,  in  half-tuneful,  half-silent  days  ;  in  a 
sweet  sort  of  petulance.  She  had  kept  in  mind 
everything  he  had  said  to  her,  the  playfully  emo- 


106       WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

tional  pressure  of  her  hand,  his  eloquent  talks  with 
her  uncle,  the  old  sergeant's  rhapsodies  about  him; 
and  there  was  no  place  in  the  room  where  he  had 
sat  or  stood,  which  she  had  not  made  sacred — 
she  the  madcap,  who  had  lovers  by  the  dozen. 
Importuned  by  the  Cure'  and  her  mother  to 
marry,  she  had  threatened,  if  they  worried  her 
further,  to  wed  fat  Duclosse,  the  mealman,  who 
had  courted  her  in  a  ponderous  way  for  at  least 
three  years. 

The  fire  that  corrodes,  when  it  does  not  make 
glorious  without  and  within,  was  in  her  veins,  and 
when  Valmond  should  call  she  was  ready  to  come. 
She  could  not  see  that  if  he  were  in  truth  a 
Napoleon,  she  was  not  for  him.  Seized  of  that 
wilful,  daring  spirit,  called  Love,  her  sight  was 
bounded  by  the  little  field  wherein  she  strayed. 

Her  arm  paused  upon  the  lever  of  the  bellows, 
as  she  saw  Valmond  watching  them  from  the 
door.  He  took  off  his  hat  to  them,  as  Madelinette 
turned  and  said  impulsively,  "  Ah,  monseigneur  !" 
then  waited,  confused.  £lise  did  not  move,  but 
stood  looking  at  him,  her  eyes  all  flame,  her 
cheeks  going  a  little  pale,  and  flushing  again. 
She  pushed  her  hair  back  with  a  quick  motion, 
and  as  he  stepped  inside  and  closed  the  door  be- 
hind him,  she  blew  the  bellows  as  if  to  give  a 
brighter  light  to  the  place.  The  fire  flared  up, 
but  there  were  corners  in  deep  shadow.  Val- 
mond doffed  his  hat  again  and  said  ceremoniously, 
"  Mademoiselle  Lajeunesse,  Mademoiselle  Elise, 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        IO/ 

pray  do  not  stop  your  work.  Let  me  sit  here  and 
watch  you." 

Taking  from  his  pocket  a  cigarette,  he  came 
over  to  the  forge,  and  was  about  to  light  it  with 
the  red  steel  from  the  fire,  when  £lise,  snatching 
up  a  tiny  piece  of  wood,  thrust  it  in  the  coals,  and 
drawing  it  out  held  it  toward  the  cigarette,  say- 
ing :  "  Ah,  no,  your  Excellency — this  !  " 

As  Valmond  reached  to  take  it  from  her,  he 
heard  a  sound  as  of  a  hoarse  breathing,  coming 
from  the  shadowy  corner  behind  him,  and  turned 
quickly;  his  outstretched  hand  touched  Rise's 
fingers,  and  closed  on  them  involuntarily,  all  her 
impulsive  temperament  and  ardent  life  thrilling 
through  him.  The  shock  of  feeling  brought  his 
eyes  to  hers  with  a  sudden  burning  mastery.  For 
an  instant  their  looks  fused  and  were  lost  in  a  pas- 
sionate affiance.  Then,  as  if  pulling  himself  out 
of  a  dream,  he  released  her  fingers  with  a,  "  Par- 
don— my  child." 

As  he  did  so,  a  cry  ran  through  the  smithy. 
Madelinette  was  standing,  tense  and  set  with 
terror,  her  eyes  riveted  on  something  that  crouched 
beside  a  pile  of  cartwheels  a  few  feet  away  ;  some- 
thing with  shaggy  head,  flaring  eyes,  and  a  devilish 
face.  The  thing  raised  itself  and  sprang  towards 
her  with  a  devouring  cry.  Leaping  forward  with 
desperate  swiftness,  Valmond  caught  the  half 
man,  half  beast— it  seemed  that— by  the  throat  ; 
and  Madelinette  fell  fainting  against  the  anvil. 

Valmond  was  in   the  grasp  of  a  giant,  and. 


108       WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

struggle  as  he  might,  he  could  not  withstand  the 
powerful  arms  of  his  assailant.  They  came  to 
their  knees  on  the  ground,  where  they  clutched 
and  strained  for  a  wild  minute,  Valmond  desper^ 
ately  fighting  to  keep  the  huge  bony  fingers  from 
his  neck.  Suddenly  the  creature's  knee  touched 
the  red-hot  steel  that  Madelinette  had  dropped, 
and  with  a  snarl  he  flung  Valmond  back  against 
the  anvil,  his  head  striking  the  iron  with  a  sicken- 
ing thud.  Then,  seizing  the  steel,  he  raised  it  to 
plunge  the  still  glowing  point  into  his  victim's  eyes. 

Centuries  of  doom  seemed  crowded  into  that  in- 
stant of  time.  Valmond  caught  the  giant's  wrist 
with  both  hands,  and  with  a  mighty  effort  wrenched 
himself  aside.  His  heart  seemed  to  strain  and 
burst,  and  just  as  he  felt  the  end  was  come,  he 
heard  something  crash  on  the  murderer's  skull, 
and  the  great  creature  fell  with  a  gurgling  sound, 
and  lay  like  a  parcel  of  loose  bones  across  his 
knees.  Valmond  raised  himself,  a  strange,  dull 
wonder  on  him,  for  as  the  weapon  smote  this  life- 
less thing,  he  had  seen  another  hurl  by  and 
strike  the  opposite  wall.  A  moment  afterwards 
the  dead  man  was  pulled  away  by  Parpon.  Try- 
ing to  rise,  he  felt  blood  trickling  down  his  neck, 
and  he  turned  sick  and  blind.  As  the  world 
slipped  away  from  him,  a  soft  shoulder  caught  his 
head,  and  out  of  a  great  distance  there  came  to 
him  a  woman's  wailing  cry :  "  He  is  dying  !  my 
love  !  my  love  ! " 

Peril  and  pain  had  brought  to  £lise's  breast 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC       109 

the  one  being  in  the  world  for  her,  the  face  that 
had  burned  like  a  picture  upon  her  eyes  and  heart. 

Parpon  groaned  with  a  strange  horror  as  he 
dragged  the  body  from  Valmond.  For  a  moment 
he  knelt  gasping  beside  the  uncouth  form,  his 
great  hands  spasmodically  feeling  the  pulseless 
breast. 

Soon  afterwards  in  the  blacksmith's  house  the 
two  girls  huddled  together  in  each  other's  arms, 
and  Valmond,  shaken  and  weak,  returned  to  the 
smithy. 

In  the  dull  glare  of  the  forge  fire  knelt  Parpon, 
rocking  back  and  forth  beside  the  body.  Hearing 
him  approach,  the  dwarf  got  to  his  feet. 

"  You  have  killed  him,"  he  said,  pointing. 

"  No,  no,  not  I,"  answered  Valmond.  "  Some- 
one threw  a  hammer." 

"  There  were  two  hammers." 

"  It  was  £lise  ?  "  asked  Valmond,  with  a  shud- 
der. 

"  No,  not  £lise  ;  it  was  you,"  said  the  dwarf, 
with  a  strange  insistence. 

"  I  tell  you  no,"  said  Valmond.  "  It  was  you, 
Parpon." 

"  By  God  !  it  is  a  lie  ! "  cried  the  dwarf,  with  a 
groan.  Then  he  came  close  to  Valmond.  "  He 
was — my  brother  !  Do  you  not  see  ?  "  he  de- 
manded fiercely,  his  eyes  full  of  misery.  "  Do 
you  not  see,  that  it  was  you  who  killed  him  ? 
Yes,  yes,  it  was  you." 

Stooping,  Valmond  caught  the  little  man  in  an 


110        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

embrace.  "  It  was  I  that  killed  him,  Parpon.  It 
was  I,  comrade.  You  saved  my  life,"  he  added 
significantly. 

"  The  girl  threw,  but  missed,"  said  the  dwarf. 
"  She  does  not  know  but  that  she  struck  him." 
"  She  must  be  told." 

"I  will  tell  her  that  you  killed  him.  Leave  it 
to  me — all  to  me,  my  grand  seigneur  !  " 

A  half  hour  afterwards  the  avocat,  the  Cure",  the 
Little  Chemist,  had  heard  the  story  as  the  dwarf 
told  it,  and  Valmond  returned  to  the  Louis 
Quinze  a  hero.  For  hours  the  habitants  gathered 
under  his  window  and  cheered  him. 

Parpon  sat  long  in  gloomy  silence  by  his  side, 
but  at  last,  raising  his  voice,   he  began  to  sing 
softly  a  lament  for  the  lifeless  body,  lying  alone  in 
a  shed  near  the  deserted  smithy. 
"  Children,  the  house  is  empty, 

The  house  behind  the  tall  hill ; 

Lonely  and  still  is  the  empty  house. 

There  is  no  face  in  the  doorway, 

There  is  no  fire  in  the  chimney. 

Come  and  gather  beside  the  gate, 

Little  Good  Folk  of  the  Scarlet  Hills. 

Where  has  the  wild  dog  vanished  ? 

Where  has  the  swift  foot  gone  ? 

Where  is  the  hand  that  found  the  good  fruit, 

That  made  a  garret  of  wholesome  herbs  ? 

Where  is  the  voice  that  awoke  the  morn, 

The  tongue  that  defied  the  terrible  beasts  ? 

Come  and  listen  beside  the  door, 

Little  Good  Folk  of  the  Scarlet  Hills." 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        III 

The  pathos  of  the  chant  almost  made  his  lis- 
tener shrink,  so  immediate  and  searching  was  it. 
When  the  lament  ceased  there  was  a  long  silence, 
broken  by  Valmond. 

"He  was  your  brother,  Parpon — how ?  Tell 
me  about  it." 

The  dwarfs  eyes  looked  into  the  distance. 

"It  was  in  the  far-off  country,"  he  said,  "in 
the  hills  where  the  Little  Good  Folk  come.  My 
mother  married  an  outlaw.  Ah,  he  was  cruel, 
and  an  animal !  My  brother  Gabriel  was  born 
— a  giant,  with  brain  all  fumbling  and  wild. 
Then  I  was  born,  so  small,  a  head  as  a  tub,  and 
long  arms  like  a  gorilla.  We  burrowed  in  the 
hills,  Gabriel  and  I.  Then  one  day  my  mother, 
because  my  father  struck  her,  went  mad,  left  us,  and 
came  to — "  He  paused  abruptly.  "Then  Gabriel 
struck  the  man,  and  he  died,  and  we  buried  him, 
and  my  brother  also  left  me,  and  I  was  alone. 
Bye  and  bye  I  travelled  to  Pontiac.  Once  Gabriel 
came  down  from  the  hills,  and  Lajeunesse  burnt 
him  with  a  hot  iron,  for  cutting  his  bellows 
in  the  night,  to  make  himself  a  bed  inside 
them.  To-day  he  came  again  to  do  some  ter- 
rible thing  to  the  blacksmith  or  the  girl,  and  you 
have  seen — ah,  the  poor  Gabriel,  and  I  killed 
him  !  " 

"  I  killed  him,"  said  Valmond,  "  I,  Parpon,  my 
friend." 

"  My  poor  fool,  my  wild  dog,"  wailed  the  dwarf, 
mournfully. 


112        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

"  Parpon,"  asked  Valmond,  suddenly,  "where 
is  your  mother  ?  " 

"It  is  no  matter.  She  has  forgotten — she  is 
safe." 

"  If  she  should  see  him  !  "  said  Valmond,  tenta- 
tively, for  a  sudden  thought  had  come  to  him  that 
the  mother  of  these  misfits  of  God  was  Madame 
De"gardy. 

Parpon  sprang  to  his  feet.  "  She  shall  not  see 
him.  Ah,  you  know  !  You  have  guessed  ?  "  he 
cried. 

"  She  is  all  safe  with  me." 

"  She  shall  not  see  him.  She  shall  not  know," 
repeated  the  dwarf,  his  eyes  huddling  back  in  his 
head  with  anguish. 

"  Does  she  not  remember  you  ?  " 

"She  does  not  remember  the  living,  but  she 
would  remember  the  dead.  She  shall  not  know," 
he  cried  again. 

Then  seizing  Valmond's  hand,  he  kissed  it,  and, 
without  a  word,  trotted  from  the  room,  a  ludi- 
crously pathetic  figure. 


CHAPTER  IX 

IN  OW  and  again  the  moon  showed  through  the 
cloudy  night,  and  the  air  was  soft  and  kind.  Par- 
pon  left  behind  him  the  village  street,  and  after 
a  half  mile  or  more  of  travel  came  to  a  spot 
where  a  crimson  light  showed  beyond  a  little  hill. 
He  halted  a  moment,  as  if  to  think  and  listen, 
then  crawled  swiftly  up  the  bank  and  looked 
down.  Beside  a  still  smoking  lime-kiln,  an  aban- 
doned fire  was  burning  down  into  red  coals.  The 
little  hut  of  the  limeburner  was  beyond  in  a  hollow, 
and  behind  that  again  was  a  lean-to,  like  a  small 
shed  or  stable.  Hither  stole  the  dwarf,  pausing  on 
his  way  to  listen  a  moment  at  the  door  of  the  hut. 

Leaning  into  the  darkness  of  the  shed  he  gave 
a  soft  crooning  call.  A  low  growl  came  in  quick 
reply,  followed  by  others.  He  stepped  inside. 

"  Good  dogs,  good  dogs,  good  Musket,  Coffee, 
Filthy,  Jo-Jo — steady,  steady,  idiots  ! "  for  the 
huge  brutes  were  nosing  him,  throwing  them- 
selves against  him,  and  whining  gratefully.  Feel- 
ing against  the  wall  he  took  down  some  harness, 
and  in  the  dark  put  a  set  on  each  dog — mere  straps 
for  the  shoulders,  halters  and  traces;  called  to  them 
sharply  to  be  quiet,  and,  keeping  hold  of  their  col- 
8 


114       WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

lars,  led  them  out  into  the  night.  He  paused  to 
listen  again.  Presently  he  drove  the  dogs  across 
the  road,  and  attached  them  to  a  flat  vehicle  with- 
out wheels  or  runners,  used  by  Garotte  for  the 
drawing  of  lime  and  stones.  It  was  not  so  heavy 
as  many  machines  of  the  kind,  and  at  a  quick 
word  from  the  dwarf,  the  dogs  darted  away.  Un- 
seen, a  mysterious  figure  hurried  on  after  them, 
keeping  well  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees  fringing  the 
side  of  the  road. 

Parpon  drove  the  dogs  down  a  lonely  side  lane 
to  the  village,  and  came  to  the  shed  where  lay  the 
uncouth  thing,  which  he  had  called  his  brother. 
He  felt  for  a  spot  where  there  was  a  loose  board, 
forced  it  and  another  with  his  strong  fingers,  and 
crawled  in.  Reappearing,  with  the  body,  he 
bore  it  in  his  huge  arms  to  the  stone-boat :  a 
midget  carrying  a  giant — a  dreadful  burden.  He 
covered  up  the  face,  and  returning  to  the  shed, 
placed  his  coat  against  the  boards  to  deaden  the 
sound,  and  hammered  them  tight  again  with  a 
stone,  after  having  straightened  the  grass  about. 
He  found  the  dogs  cowering  with  a  nameless  fear, 
for  one  of  them  had  pushed  the  cloth  off  the  dead 
man's  face  with  his  nose.  They  crouched  together, 
whining  and  tugging  at  the  traces.  With  a  quiet- 
ing word  he  started  them  away. 

The  pursuing  watchful  figure  followed  at  a  dis- 
tance, on  up  the  road,  on  over  the  little  hills,  on 
into  the  high  hills,  the  dogs  carrying  along  swiftly 
the  grisly  load.  And  once  their  driver  halted 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        115 

them,  and  sat  in  the  gray  gloom  and  dust  beside 
the  dead  man. 

"Where  do  you  go,  dwarf?"  he  said  aloud. 

"  I  go  to  the  Ancient  House,"  he  made  answer 
to  himself. 

"  What  do  you  go  to  get  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  go  to  get,  I  go  to  give." 

".What  do  you  go  to  give  ?  " 

"  I  go  to  leave  an  empty  basket  at  the  door,  and 
the  lantern  that  the  Shopkeeper  set  in  the  hand  of 
the  pedler." 

"  Who  is  the  pedler,  hunchback  ?  " 

"  The  pedler  is  he  that  carries  the  pack  on  his 
back." 

"  What  carries  he  in  the  pack  ?  " 

"  He  carries  what  the  Shopkeeper  gave  him — 
for  he  had  no  money  and  no  choice." 

"  Who  is  the  Shopkeeper,  dwarf  ?  " 

"  The  Shopkeeper — the  Shopkeeper  is  the  father 
of  dwarfs,  and  angels,  and  children, — and  fools." 

"  What  does  he  sell,  poor  man  ?  " 

"  He  sells  harness  for  men  and  cattle,  and  you 
give  your  lives  for  the  harness." 

"  What  is  this  you  carry,  dwarf  ?  " 

"  I  carry  home  the  harness  of  a  soul." 

"  Is  it  worth  carrying  home  ?  " 

"  The  eyes  grow  sick  at  sight  of  the  old  harness 
in  the  way." 

And  the  watching  figure  heard  and  pitied.  It 
was  Valmond.  Excited  by  Parpon's  last  words 
at  the  hotel,  he  had  followed,  and  though  suffer- 


Il6        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

ing  from  the  wound  in  his  head,  and  shaken  by 
the  awful  accident  of  the  evening,  he  was  keen  to 
chase  this  weird  adventure  to  the  end.  For,  as  he 
said  to  himself,  some  things  were  to  be  seen  but 
once  in  the  great  game,  and  it  was  worth  while 
seeing  them,  even  if  life  were  the  shorter  for  it. 

On,  and  ever  upward,  filed  the  strange  proces- 
sion, until  at  last  they  came  to  Dalgrothe  Moun- 
tain. On  one  of  its  foot-hills  stood  the  Rock  of 
Red  Pigeons.  This  was  the  dwarfs  secret  resort, 
and  no  one  ever  disturbed  him,  for  it  was  said  the 
Little  Good  Folk  of  the  Scarlet  Hills  (of  whom, 
it  was  rumored,  he  had  come)  held  revel  there, 
and  people  did  not  venture  rashly.  The  land 
about  it,  and  a  hut  farther  down  the  hill,  belonged 
to  him,  a  legacy  from  the  father  of  the  young 
Seigneur. 

It  was  all  hills,  gorges,  and  rivers,  and  idle 
murmuring  pines.  Of  a  morning,  mist  floated 
into  mist  as  far  as  eye  could  see,  blue  and  gray  and 
amethyst,  a  glamour  of  tints  and  velvety  radiance. 
The  great  hills  waved  into  each  other  like  a  vast 
violet  sea,  and,  in  turn,  the  tiny  earth-waves  on 
each  separate  hill  swelled  into  the  larger  har- 
mony. At  the  foot  of  a  steep  precipice  was  the 
whirlpool  from  which  Parpon  had  saved  the  father 
of  De  la  Rivifcre  from  an  awful  death,  and  had 
received  this  lonely  region  as  his  reward.  To 
the  dwarf  it  was  his  other  world,  his  real  world  ; 
for  here  he  lived  his  own  life,  and  it  was  here  he 
had  brought  his  ungainly  dead,  to  give  it  housing. 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        117 

The  dogs  drew  up  the  grim  cargo  to  a  plateau 
near  the  Rock  of  Red  Pigeons,  and  gathering 
sticks,  Parpon  lit  a  sweet-smelling  fire  of  cedar. 
Then  he  went  to  the  hut,  and  came  back  with  a 
spade  and  shovel.  At  the  foot  of  a  great  pine  he 
began  to  dig.  As  the  work  went  on  he  broke  into 
a  sort  of  dirge,  painfully  sweet.  Leaning  against 
a  rock  not  far  away,  Valmond  watched  the  tiny 
man  with  the  great  arms  throw  up  the  soft,  good- 
smelling  earth,  enriched  by  centuries  of  dead 
leaves  and  flowers.  The  trees  waved,  and  bent, 
and  murmured  as  though  they  gossiped  with  each 
other  over  this  odd  grave-digger.  The  light  of 
the  fire  showed  across  the  gorge,  touching  off  the 
far  wall  of  pines  with  burnished  crimson,  and  huge 
flickering  shadows  looked  like  elusive  spirits, 
attendant  on  the  lonely  obsequies.  Now  and  then 
a  bird,  aroused  by  the  light  or  the  snapping  of  a 
burning  stick,  rose  from  its  nest  and  flew  away  ; 
and  wild  fowl  flitted  darkly  down  the  pass,  like 
the  souls  of  heroes  faring  to  Walhalla.  When  an 
owl  hooted,  a  wolf  howled  far  off,  or  a  loon  cried 
from  the  water  below,  the  solemn  fantasy  took  on 
the  aspect  of  the  unreal. 

Valmond  watched  like  one  in  a  dream,  and 
once  or  twice  he  turned  faint  and  drew  his  cloak 
about  him,  as  if  he  were  cold,  for  a  sickly  air, 
passing  by,  seemed  to  fill  his  lungs  with  poison. 

At  last  the  grave  was  dug,  and  sprinkling  its 
depth  with  leaves  and  soft  branches  of  spruce, 
the  dwarf  drew  the  body  over,  and  lowered  it 


Il8       WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

slowly  and  awkwardly.  Then  he  covered  all  but 
the  huge,  unsightly  face,  and  kneeling,  peered 
down  at  it  pitifully. 

"Gabriel,  Gabriel,"  he  cried,  "surely  thy  soul 
is  better  without  its  harness.  I  killed  thee,  and 
thou  didst  kill,  and  those  we  love  die  by  our  own 
hands.  But,  no,  I  lie  ;  I  did  not  love  thee,  thou 
wert  so  ugly,  and  wild,  and  cruel.  Poor  boy  ! 
Thou  wast  a  fool,  and — hush  !  thou  wast  a  mur- 
derer. Thou  wouldst  have  slain  my  prince,  and 
so  I  slew  thee — I  slew  thee  !  " 

He  rocked  to  and  fro  in  abject  sorrow:  "Hast 
thou  no  one  in  all  the  world  to  mourn  thee  save 
him  who  killed  thee  ?  Is  there  no  one  to  wish  thee 
speed  to  the  Ancient  House  ?  Art  thou  tossed 
away  like  an  old  shoe,  and  no  one  to  say,  The 
Shoemaker  that  made  thee  must  see  to  it  if  thou 
wast  illshapen,  and  walked  crookedly,  and  did  evil 
things  ?  Ah  !  is  there  no  one  to  mourn  thee,  save 
him  that  killed  thee  ?  " 

He  leaned  back,  crying  out  into  the  great  hills 
like  a  remorseful,  tortured  soul. 

Valmond,  no  longer  able  to  watch  his  grief  in 
silence,  stepped  quickly  forward.  The  dogs,  see- 
ing him,  growled  warningly,  and  the  dwarf  looked 
up  as  he  heard  the  footsteps. 

"There  is  another  to  mourn  him,  Parpon," 
said  Valmond. 

A  look  of  bewilderment  and  joy  came  into 
Parpon's  eyes.  Then  he  gave  a  laugh  of  singular 
wildness,  his  face  twitched,  tears  rushed  down  his 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        119 

cheeks,  and  he  threw  himself  at  Valmond's  feet 
and  clasped  his  knees,  crying  : 

"  Ah,  ah,  my  prince,  great  brother,  thou  hast 
come  also  !  Ah,  thou  didst  know  the  way  up  the 
long  hill !  Thou  hast  come  to  the  burial  of  a  fool. 
But  he  had  a  mother — ay,  ay,  a  mother  !  All  fools 
have  mothers,  and  they  should  be  buried  well. 
Ah,  come,  come,  and  speak  softly  the  Act  of  Con- 
trition, and  I  will  cover  him  up." 

He  went  to  throw  in  the  earth,  but  Valmond 
pushed  him  aside  gently. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  "  this  is  for  me."  And  he 
began  filling  the  grave. 

When  they  left  the  place  of  burial  the  fire  was 
burning  low,  for  they  had  talked  long.  At  the 
foot  of  the  hills  they  looked  back.  Day  was  begin- 
ning to  break  over  Dalgrothe  Mountain. 


CHAPTER  X 

W  HEN,  next  day,  in  the  bright  sunlight,  the 
Little  Chemist,  the  Cure*,  and  others,  opened  the 
door  of  the  shed,  taking  off  their  hats  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Master  Workman,  they  saw  that  his 
seat  was  empty.  The  dead  Caliban  was  gone — 
who  should  say  how  or  where  ?  The  lock  was 
still  on  the  doors,  the  walls  were  intact,  there  was 
no  window  for  entrance  or  escape.  He  had  van- 
ished as  weirdly  as  he  came. 

All  day  the  people  sought  the  place,  viewing 
with  awe  and  superstition  the  place  where  the 
body  had  lain,  and  the  spot  in  the  smithy  where, 
it  was  said,  Valmond  had  killed  the  giant. 

The  next  day  was  the  feast  of  St.  John  the  Bap- 
tist. Mass  was  said  in  the  church,  all  the  parish 
attending  ;  and  Valmond  was  present,  with  La- 
groin  in  full  regimentals. 

Plates  of  blessed  bread  were  passed  round  at 
the  close  of  the  mass,  as  was  the  custom  on  this 
feast-day  ;  and  with  a  curious  feeling  that  came  to 
him  often  afterward,  Valmond  listened  to  his  gen- 
eral saying  solemnly  : 

"  Holy  bread,  I  take  thee  ; 
If  I  die  suddenly, 
Serve  me  as  a  sacrament." 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        121 

With  many  eyes  watching  him  curiously,  he  also 
ate  the  bread,  and  repeated  the  mystical  words. 

All  day  long  there  were  sports  and  processions, 
the  habitants  gay  in  rosettes  and  ribbons,  flowers 
and  maple-leaves,  as  they  idled  or  filed  along  the 
streets,  under  arches  of  evergreens,  where  the 
tricolor  and  union  jack,  amiably  mingled  and  flut- 
tered together.  Anvils,  with  powder  placed  be- 
tween, were  touched  off  with  a  bar  of  red-hot  iron, 
making  a  vast  noise,  and  drawing  crowds  in  front 
of  the  smithy.  On  the  hill  beside  the  Curb's  house 
was  a  little  old  cannon  brought  from  the  battle- 
field of  Ticonderoga,  and  its  boisterous  salutations 
were  replied  to  from  the  Seigneury,  by  a  still  more 
ancient  piece  of  ordnance.  Sixty  of  Valmond's 
recruits,  under  Lajeunesse  the  blacksmith,  marched 
up  and  down  the  streets  firing  salutes  with  happy 
intrepidity,  and  setting  themselves  off  before  the 
crowds  with  a  good  many  airs,  and  nods,  and 
simple  vanities. 

In  the  early  evening,  the  good  Cure*  blessed  and 
lighted  the  great  bonfire  before  the  church,  and 
immediately,  at  this  signal,  an  answering  fire 
sprang  up  on  a  hill  at  the  other  side  of  the  village. 
Then  fire  on  fire  rose  up  at  all  points,  and  multi- 
plied, till  all  of  Pontiac  was  in  a  glow.  This  was 
a  custom  set  in  memory  of  the  old  days  when  fires 
flashed  intelligence,  after  a  set  code,  across  the 
great  rivers  and  lakes,  and  from  hill  to  hill. 

Far  up  against  Dalgrothe  Mountain  appeared  a 
sumptuous  star,  mystical  and  red.  Valmond  saw 


122        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

it  from  his  window,  and  knew  it  to  be  Parpon's 
watch-fire,  by  the  grave  of  his  brother  Gabriel. 

The  chief  procession  started  with  the  lighting  of 
the  bonfires.  Singing  softly,  choristers  and  aco- 
lytes in  robes,  preceded  the  Cure',  and  devout  be- 
lievers and  youths  on  horseback  with  ribbons  fly- 
ing, carried  banners  and  shrines.  Marshals  kept 
the  lines  steady,  and  four  were  in  constant  attend- 
ance on  a  gorgeous  carriage,  all  gilt  and  carving 
(the  heirloom  of  the  parish),  in  which  reclined  the 
figure  of  a  handsome  lad,  impersonating  John  the 
Baptist,  with  long  golden  hair,  dressed  in  rich 
robes  and  skins — a  sceptre  in  his  hand,  a  snowy 
lamb  at  his  feet.  The  rude  symbolism  was  soft- 
ened and  toned  to  an  almost  poetical  refinement, 
and  gave  to  the  harmless  revels  a  touch  of  Arcady. 

After  this  semi-religious  procession,  nightfall 
brought  the  march  of  Garotte's  Kalathumpians. 
They  were  carried  on  three  long  drays,  each 
drawn  by  four  horses,  half  of  them  white,  half 
black.  They  were  an  outlandish  crew  of  come- 
dians, dressed  after  no  pattern,  save  the  absurd — 
clowns,  satyrs,  kings,  soldiers,  imps,  barbarians. 
Many  had  hideous  false  faces,  and  a  few  horribly 
tall  skeletons  had  heads  of  pumpkins  with  lighted 
candles  inside.  The  marshals  were  pierrots  and 
clowns  on  long  stilts,  who  towered  in  a  ghostly 
way  above  the  crowd.  They  were  cheerful,  fan- 
tastic revellers,  singing  the  maddest  and  silliest  of 
songs,  with  singular  refrains  and  repetitions. 

They  stopped  at  last  in  front  of  the  Louis  Quinze. 


WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC        123 

The  windows  of  Valmond's  chambers  were  alight, 
and  to  one  a  staff  was  fastened.  Suddenly  the 
Kalathumpians  quieted  where  they  stood,  for  the 
voice  of  their  leader,  a  sort  of  fat  king  of  Yvetot, 
cried  out : 

"See  there,  my  noisy  children!"  It  was  the 
inventive  limeburner  who  spoke.  "What  come 
you  here  for,  my  rollicking  blades  ?  " 

"We  are  a  long  way  from  home  ;  we  are  look- 
ing for  our  brother,  your  Majesty,"  they  cried  in 
chorus. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  What  is  your  brother  like,  jolly 
dogs  ? " 

"He  has  a  face  of  ivory,  and  eyes  like  torches, 
and  he  carries  a  silver  sword." 

"  But  what  the  devil  is  his  face  like  ivory  for, 
my  fanfarons  ? '' 

"  So  that  he  shall  not  blush  for  us.  He  is  a 
grand  seigneur,"  they  shouted  back. 

"Why  are  his  eyes  like  torches,  my  raga- 
muffins ?  " 

"  To  show  us  the  way  home." 

Valmond  appeared  upon  the  balcony. 

"  What  is  it  you  wish,  my  comrades  ? "  he 
asked. 

"Brother,"  said  the  fantastic  leader,  "we've 
lost  our  way.  Will  you  lead  us  home  again  ?  " 

"It  is  a  long  travel,"  he  answered,  after  the 
fashions  of  their  own  symbols.  "  There  are  high 
hills  to  climb  ;  there  may  be  wild  beasts  in  the 
way,  and  storms  come  down  the  mountains." 


124       WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

"  We  have  strong  hearts,  and  you  have  a  silver 
sword,  brother." 

"  I  cannot  see  your  faces,  to  know  if  you  are 
true,  my  children,"  he  answered. 

Instantly  the  clothes  flew  off,  masks  fell,  pump- 
kins came  crashing  to  the  ground,  the  stilts  of  the 
marshals  dropped,  and  thirty  men  stood  upon 
the  drays  in  crude  military  order,  with  muskets 
in  their  hands,  and  cockades  in  their  caps.  At 
that  moment  also,  a  flag  —  the  tricolor  —  flut- 
tered upon  the  staff  out  of  Valmond's  window. 
The  roll  of  a  drum  came  out  of  the  street  some- 
where, and  presently  the  people  fell  back  before 
sixty  armed  men  marching  in  columns,  under 
Lagroin,  while  from  the  opposite  direction  came 
Lajeunesse  with  sixty  others,  silent  all,  till  they 
reached  the  drays,  and  formed  round  them  slowly. 

Valmond  stood  motionless  watching,  and  the 
people  were  very  still,  for  this  seemed  like  real  life, 
and  no  comedy.  Some  of  the  soldiery  had  mili- 
tary clothes,  old  militia  uniforms,  or  the  rebel 
trappings  of  '37  ;  others,  less  fortunate,  wore  their 
trousers  in  long  boots,  their  coats  buttoned  lightly 
over  their  chests,  and  belted  in  ;  and  the  Napo- 
leonic cockade  was  in  every  cap. 

"  My  children,"  said  Valmond  at  last,  "  I  see 
that  your  hearts  are  strong,  and  that  you  have  the 
bodies  of  true  men.  We  have  sworn  fealty  to 
each  other,  and  the  badge  of  our  love  is  in  your 
caps.  Let  us  begin  our  journey  home.  I  will 
come  down  among  you.  I  will  come  down  among 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        125 

you,  and  I  will  lead  you  from  Pontiac  to  the  sea, 
gathering  comrades  as  we  go,  then  across  the  sea 
to  France,  then  to  Paris  and  the  Tuileries,  where 
the  Bourbons  usurp  the  place  of  a  Napoleon." 

He  descended  and  mounted  his  waiting  horse. 
At  that  moment  Monsieur  de  la  Riviere  appeared 
on  the  balcony,  and,  stepping  forward,  said  : 

"  My  friends,  do  you  know  what  you  are  doing  ? 
This  is  folly.  This  man " 

He  got  no  further,  for  Valmond  raised  his  hand 
to  Lagroin,  and  the  drums  began  to  beat.  Then 
he  rode  down  in  front  of  Lajeunesse's  men,  the 
others  sprang  from  the  drays  and  fell  into  place, 
and  soon  the  little  army  was  marching,  four  deep, 
through  the  village. 

This  was  the  official  beginning  of  Valmond's 
quest  for  empire.  The  people  had  a  phrase,  and 
they  had  a  man  ;  and  they  saw  no  further  than  the 
hour. 

As  they  filed  past  the  house  of  £lise  Malboir, 
the  girl  stood  in  the  glow  of  a  bonfire,  beside  the 
oven  where  Valmond  had  first  seen  her.  All 
around  her  was  the  wide  awe  of  night,  enriched 
by  the  sweet  perfume  of  a  coming  harvest.  He 
doffed  his  hat  to  her,  then  to  the  tricolor,  which 
Lagroin  had  fastened  on  a  tall  staff  before  the 
house.  £lise  did  not  stir,  did  not  courtesy  or 
bow,  but  stood  silent — entranced.  For  she  was 
in  a  dream.  This  man  riding  at  the  head  of  the 
simple  villagers  was  part  of  her  vision,  and,  at 
the  moment,  she  did  not  rouse  from  the  ecstasy 


126        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

of  reverie  where    her    new-born  love    had  led 
her. 

For  Valmond  the  picture  had  a  moving  power. 
He  heard  again  her  voice  crying  in  the  smithy : 
"  He  is  dying  !  Oh,  my  love  !  my  love  !  " 

He  was  now  in  the  heart  of  a  fantastic  adventure. 
Filled  with  its  spirit,  he  would  carry  it  bravely  to 
the  end,  enjoying  every  step  in  it,  comedy  or  trag- 
edy. Yet  all  day,  since  he  had  eaten  the  holy 
bread,  there  had  been  ringing  in  his  ears  the 
words  : 

"  Holy  bread,  I  take  thee  ; 
If  I  die  suddenly, 
Serve  me  as  a  sacrament." 

It  came  home  to  him,  at  the  instant,  what  a  mad 
chance  it  all  was.  What  was  he  doing  ?  No 
matter — it  was  all  a  game,  in  which  nothing  was 
sure — nothing  save  this  girl.  She  would,  he 
knew,  with  the  abandon  of  an  absorbing  passion, 
throw  all  things  away  for  him. 

Such  as  Madame  Chalice —  Ah,  she  was  a  part 
of  this  brave  fantasy,  this  dream  of  empire,  this 
splendid  play !  But  £lise  Malboir  was  actuality 
itself,  true,  absolute,  abiding.  His  nature  swam 
gloriously  in  this  daring  comedy  ;  he  believed  in  it, 
he  sank  himself  in  it  with  a  joyous  recklessness ;  it 
was  his  victory  or  his  doom.  But  it  was  a  shake 
of  the  dice — had  Fate  loaded  them  against  him  ? 

He  looked  up  the  hill  toward  the  Manor.  Life 
was  there  in  its  essence  ;  beauty,  talent,  the  genius 
of  the  dreamer,  like  his  own.  But  it  was  not  for 


WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC        1 27 

him  ;  dauphin  or  fool,  it  was  not  for  him.  Ma- 
dame Chalice  endured  him  for  some  talent  he  had 
shown,  for  the  apparent  sincerity  of  his  love  for  the 
cause,  but  that  was  all.  She  was  his  inquisitor,  but 
not  his  enemy.  Yet  she  was  ever  in  this  dream 
of  his,  and  he  felt  that  she  would  always  be  ;  the 
unattainable,  the  undeserved,  more  splendid  than 
the  cause  itself,  that  for  which  he  would  give — 
what  would  he  give  ?  Time  would  show. 

But  £lise  Malboir,  abundant,  true,  fine,  in  the 
healthy  vigor  of  her  nature,  with  no  dream  in  her 
heart  but  love  fulfilled — she  was  no  part  of  his 
adventure,  but  of  that  vital  spirit  which  can  bring 
to  the  humblest  as  to  the  highest  the  good  reality 
of  life. 


CHAPTER   XI 

IT  was  the  poignancy  of  these  feelings  which, 
later,  drew  Valmond  to  the  ashes  of  the  fire  in 
whose  glow  £lise  had  stood.  The  village  was 
quieting  down,  the  excited  habitants  had  scattered 
to  their  homes.  But  in  one  or  two  houses  there 
was  dancing,  and,  as  he  passed,  Valmond  had 
heard  the  chansons  of  the  humble  games  they 
played — primitive  games,  primitive  chansons  : 

'*  In  my  right  hand  I  hold  a  rose-bush, 
Which  will  bloom,  Manon  Ion  la  ! 
Which  will  bloom  in  the  month  of  May. 
Come  into  our  dance,  pretty  rose-bush, 
Come  and  kiss,  Manon  Ion  la  ! 
Come  and  kiss  whom  you  love  best !  " 

The  ardor,  the  delight,  the  careless  joy  of  youth 
were  in  the  song  and  in  the  dance.  These  sim- 
ple folk  would  marry,  beget  children,  labor  hard, 
obey  Mother  Church,  and  yield  up  the  ghost  peace- 
fully in  the  end,  after  their  kind  ;  but  now  and 
then  there  was  born  among  them  one  not  after 
their  kind  :  even  such  as  Madelinette  Lajeunesse, 
with  the  stirring  of  talent  in  her  veins,  and  the 
visions  of  the  artistic  temperament, — delight  and 
curse  all  at  once, — that  lifted  her  out  of  the  life, 
lonely,  and  yet  sorrowfully  happy. 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        129 

Valmond  looked  around.  How  still  and  peace- 
ful it  was,  the  home  of  £lise  standing  apart  in  the 
quiet  fields!  The  moon  was  lying  off  above  the 
edge  of  mountains,  looking  out  on  the  world  com- 
placently, as  an  indulgent  janitor  scans  the  sleepy 
street  from  his  doorway.  But  involuntarily  his  eyes 
were  drawn  to  the  hill  beyond,  where  showed  a 
light  in  a  window  of  the  Manor.  To-morrow  he 
would  go  there  :  he  had  much  to  say  to  Madame 
Chalice. 

He  was  abruptly  drawn  from  his  meditations  by 
the  entrance  of  Lagroin  into  the  little  garden.  He 
followed  the  old  man  through  the  open  doorway. 
All  was  dark,  but  as  they  stepped  within  they 
heard  some  one  move  ;  presently  a  match  was 
struck,  and  £lise  stepped  forward  with  a  candle 
raised  level  with  her  dusky  head.  Lagroin  looked 
at  her  in  indignant  astonishment. 

"  Do  you  not  see  who  is  here,  girl  ? "  he  de- 
manded. 

"Your  Excellency,"  she  said  confusedly  to  Val- 
mond, and,  bowing,  offered  him  a  chair. 

"You  must  pardon  her,  sire,"  said  the  old  ser- 
geant. "  She  has  never  been  taught,  and  she's  a 
wayward  wench." 

Valmond  waved  his  hand.  "  Nonsense,  we  are 
friends.  You  are  my  general,  she  is  your  niece." 
His  eyes  followed  her  as  she  set  out  some  cider 
for  them,  a  small  flask  of  cognac,  and  some  seed- 
cakes ;  luxuries  which  were  served  but  once  a 
year  in  this  house,  as  in  most  homes  of  Pontiac. 
9 


130        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

p  For  a  long  time  Valmond  and  Lagroin  talked, 
devised,  planned,  schemed,  till  the  old  man  grew 
husky  and  pale,  and  the  sight  of  his  senile  weari- 
ness flashed  the  irony  of  the  whole  wild  dream  into 
Valmond's  mind.  He  rose,  and  giving  his  arm, 
he  led  Lagroin  to  his  bedroom,  and  bade  him  good- 
night. When  he  returned  to  the  room  it  was 
empty. 

He  looked  around,  and,  seeing  an  open  door, 
stepped  to  it  quickly.  It  led  into  a  little  stairway. 

He  remembered  then  that  there  was  a  room 
which  had  been,  apparently,  tacked  on,  like  an 
afterthought,  to  the  end  of  the  house.  Seeing  the 
glimmer  of  a  light  beyond,  he  went  up  a  few  steps, 
and  came  face  to  face  with  £lise,  who,  candle 
in  hand,  was  about  to  descend  the  stairs  again. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  quite  still,  then  placed 
the  candle  on  the  rude  little  dressing-table,  built 
of  dry-goods  boxes,  and  draped  in  fresh  muslin. 
Valmond  took  in  every  detail  of  the  chamber  in  a 
single  glance.  It  was  very  simple  and  neat,  with 
its  small  wooden  bedstead  corded  with  rope,  the 
poor  hickory  rocking-chair,  the  flaunting  chromo 
of  the  Holy  Family,  the  sprig  of  blessed  palm,  the 
shrine  of  the  Virgin,  the  print  skirts  hanging  on 
the  wall,  the  stockings  lying  across  a  chair,  the  bits 
of  ribbon  on  the  bed.  The  quietness,  the  allur- 
ing simplicity,  the  whole  room  filled  with  the  rich 
presence  of  the  girl,  sent  a  flood  of  color  to  Val- 
mond's face,  and  his  heart  beat  hard.  Curiosity 
only,  had  led  him  into  the  room,  something  more 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        13! 

vital  held  him  there.  £lise  seemed  to  read  his 
thoughts,  and,  taking  up  her  candle,  she  moved 
toward  the  doorway.  Neither  had  spoken.  As 
she  was  about  to  pass  him,  he  suddenly  touched 
her  arm.  Glancing  toward  the  window,  he  noticed 
that  the  blind  was  not  down.  He  turned,  and 
blew  out  the  candle  in  her  hand. 

"  Ah,  your  Excellency  !  "  she  cried  in  tremulous 
affright. 

"We  could  have  been  seen  from  outside," 
he  explained.  She  turned  and  saw  the  moonlight 
streaming  in  at  the  window,  and  lying  like  a 
silver  coverlet  upon  the  floor.  As  if  with  a 
blind,  involuntary  instinct  for  protection,  she 
stepped  forward,  and  stood  within  it,  motion- 
less. The  sight  thrilled  him,  and  he  moved 
towards  her.  The  mind  of  the  girl  reasserted 
itself,  and  she  hastened  to  the  door.  Again,  as 
she  was  about  to  pass  him,  he  put  his  hand  upon 
her  shoulder. 

"  Elise,  £lise  !  "  he  said.  The  voice  was  per- 
suasive, eloquent,  going  to  every  far  retreat  ot 
emotion  in  her. 

There  was  a  sudden  riot  in  his  veins,  and  he 
took  her  passionately  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her 
on  the  lips,  on  the  eyes,  on  the  hair,  on  the  'neck. 
At  that  moment  the  outer  door  opened  below,  and 
the  murmur  of  voices  came  to  them. 

"  Oh  monsieur,  oh  monsieur,  let  me  go,"  she 
whispered  fearfully.  "It  is  my  mother  and 
Duclosse  the  mealman." 


132        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

Valmond  recognized  the  fat,  wheezy  tones  of 
Duclosse — Sergeant  Duclosse.  He  released  her, 
and  she  caught  up  the  candle. 

"  What  can  you  do  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"  I  will  wait  here.  I  must  not  go  down,"  he 
replied.  "  It  would  mean  ruin." 

Ruin  !  ruin  !  Was  she  face  to  face  with  ruin 
already,  she  who,  two  minutes  ago,  was  as  safe 
and  happy  as  a  young  bird  in  its  nest  ?  He  saw 
instantly  he  had  made  a  mistake,  had  been  cruel, 
though  he  had  not  intended  it. 

"  Ruin  to  me,"  he  said  at  once.  "  Duclosse  is  a 
stupid  fellow ;  he  would  not  understand,  he  would 
desert  me,  and  that  would  be  disastrous  at  this 
moment.  Go  down,"  he  said,  "  I  will  wait  here, 
£lise." 

Her  brows  knitted.  "  Oh  monsieur,  oh  mon- 
sieur, I'd  rather  face  death,  I  believe,  than  that 
you  should  remain  here." 

But  he  pushed  her  gently  toward  the  door,  and 
soon  afterwards  he  heard  her  talking  to  Duclosse 
and  her  mother. 

He  sat  down  on  the  couch,  and  listened  for  a  mo- 
ment. His  veins  were  still  glowing  from  the  wild 
moment  just  passed,  lilise  would  come  back — 
and  then — what  ?  She  would  be  alone  with  him 
again  in  this  room,  loving  him — fearing  him.  He 
remembered  once  how  as  a  child  he  had  seen  a 
peasant  strike  his  wife,  felling  her  to  the  ground, 
and  how  afterwards  she  had  clasped  him  round 
the  neck  and  kissed  him,  as  he  bent  over,  in  merely 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        133 

vulgar  fright  lest  he  had  killed  her.  That  scene 
flashed  before  him. 

Then  came  an  opposing  thought.  As  Madame 
Chalice  had  said,  either  as  dauphin  or  fool,  he  was 
playing  a  terrible  game.  Why  shouldn't  he  get 
all  he  could  out  of  it  while  it  lasted — let  the  world 
break  over  him  when  it  must  ?  Why  should  he 
stand  in  an  orchard  of  ripe  fruit,  and  refuse  to  pick 
what  lay  luscious  to  his  hand,  what  this  stupid 
mealman  below  would  pick,  and  eat,  and  yawn 
over  ?  There  was  the  point.  Wouldn't  the  girl 
rather  have  him,  Valmond,  at  any  price,  than  the 
priest-blessed  love  of  Duclosse  and  his  kind  ? 

The  thought  possessed,  devoured  him,  for  a 
moment.  Suddenly  there  rang  in  his  ears  the 
words  which  had  haunted  him  all  day : 

"  Holy  bread,  I  take  thee  ; 
If  I  die  suddenly, 
Serve  me  as  a  sacrament." 

They  passed  back  and  forth  in  his  mind  for  a 
little  time,  before  they  had  any  significance.  Then 
they  gave  birth  to  another  thought.  Suppose  he 
stayed,  suppose  he  took  advantage  of  the  love  of 
this  girl  ?  He  looked  around  the  little  room, 
showing  so  peacefully  in  the  moonlight — the  relig- 
ious symbols,  the  purity,  the  cleanliness,  the  calm 
poverty.  He  had  known  the  inside  of  the  boudoirs 
and  the  bedchambers  of  women  of  fashion — he  had 
seen  them,  at  least.  In  them  the  voluptuous,  the 
indulgent,  seemed  part  of  the  picture.  Good  God ! 


134        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

He  was  not  a  beast  that  he  could  fail  to  see  what 
this  tiny  bedroom  would  be,  if  he  followed  his  wild 
will. 

Some  terrible  fate  might  overtake  his  gay  pil- 
grimage to  empire,  and  leave  him  lost,  abandoned, 
in  a  desert  of  ruin.  Why  not  give  up  the  adven- 
ture, and  come  to  this  quiet  and  this  good  peace, 
so  shutting  out  the  stir  and  violence  of  the  world  ? 

All  at  once  another  face  came  into  his  thoughts, 
swam  in  his  sight,  and  he  knew  that  what  he  felt 
for  this  peasant  girl  was  of  one  side  of  his  nature 
only.  All  of  him  worth  the  having — was  any 
worth  the  having  ? — responded  to  that  diffusing 
charm  which  brought  so  many  men  to  the  feet  of 
the  woman  at  the  Manor,  who  had  lovers  by  the 
score  ;  lovers  who  worshipped  unrequited  :  from 
such  as  the  Cur£  and  the  avocat,  gentle  and  noble, 
to  the  young  Seigneur,  selfish  and  ulterior. 

He  got  to  his  feet  quietly.  No,  he  would  make 
a  decent  exit,  in  triumph  or  defeat,  to  honor  this 
woman  who  was  standing  his  friend.  Let  them, 
the  British  Government,  proceed  against  him ;  he 
would  have  only  one  trouble  to  meet,  one  to  leave 
behind. 

He  would  not  load  this  poor  girl  with  shame  as 
well  as  sorrow.  Her  love  itself  was  affliction 
enough  to  her.  This  adventure  was  serious ;  a 
bullet  might  drop  him  ;  the  law  might  remove 
him :  and  so  he  would  leave  the  girl  alone. 

He  was  about  to  descend  by  the  window,  when 
he  heard  a  door  shut  below,  and  the  thud  of  heavy 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        135 

steps  outside  the  house.  Drawing  back,  he  waited 
until  the  footstep  of  Elise  sounded  upon  the  stair. 
She  came  in  without  a  light,  and  at  first  did  not 
see  him.  He  heard  her  gasp.  Stepping  forward 
a  little,  he  said  : 

"  I  am  here,  £lise.     Come." 

"  Oh  monsieur — your  Excellency,"  she  whis- 
pered affrightedly.  "  Oh,  you  cannot  go  down, 
for  my  mother  sits  ill  by  the  fire.  You  cannot  go 
out  that  way." 

He  took  both  her  hands.  "  No  matter.  Poor 
child,  you  are  trembling  !  Come." 

He  drew  her  toward  the  couch.  She  shrank 
back.  "  Oh,  no,  monsieur,  oh — I  die  of  shame  ! 
Oh  monsieur  !  " 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,  £lise,"  he  answered  gently, 
and  drew  her  to  his  side.  "  Let  us  say  good- 
night." 

She  grew  very  still,  and  he  felt  her  move  towards 
him,  as  she  divined  his  purpose,  and  knew  that 
this  room  of  hers  would  have  no  shadow  in  it  to- 
morrow, and  her  soul  no  unpardonable  sin.  A 
warm  peace  passed  through  her  veins,  and  she 
drew  nearer  still.  She  did  not  know  that  this  new 
ardent  confidence  came  near  to  wrecking  her. 
For  Valmond  had  an  instant's  madness,  and  only 
saved  himself  from  the  tumult  in  his  blood,  by  get- 
ting to  his  feet,  with  strenuous  resolution.  Taking 
both  her  hands,  he  kissed  her  on  the  cheeks,  and 
said  : 

"  Adieu,  lilise,   may   your   sorrow    never    be 


136        WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

more,  and  my  happiness  never  be  less.  I  am 
going." 

He  felt  her  hand  grasp  his  arm,  as  if  with  a 
desire  that  he  should  not  leave  her.  Then  she 
rose  quickly,  and  came  with  him  to  the  window. 
Raising  the  sash,  she  held  it,  and  he  looked  out. 
There  seemed  to  be  no  one  in  the  road,  no  one  in 
the  yard.  So,  half  turning,  he  swung  himself 
down  by  his  hands,  and  dropped  to  the  ground. 
From  the  window  above  a  sob  came  to  him,  and 
Rise's  face  showed  for  an  instant  in  the  moon- 
light, all  tears. 

He  did  not  seek  the  road  directly,  but  climbing 
a  fence  near  by,  crossed  a  hayfield,  going  unseen, 
as  he  thought,  to  the  village. 

But  a  woman,  walking  in  the  road  with  an  old 
gentleman,  had  seen  and  recognized  him.  Her 
fingers  clinched  with  anger  at  the  sight,  and  her 
spirit  filled  with  disgust. 

"  What  are  you  looking  at  ?"  said  her  compan- 
ion, who  was  short-sighted. 

"  At  the  tricks  moonlight  plays  with  the  eyes. 
Shadows  frighten  me  sometimes,  my  dear  avocat." 
She  shuddered. 

"  My  dear  madame  !  "  he  said  in  warm  sym- 
pathy. 


CHAPTER   XII 

1  HE  sun  was  going  down  behind  the  hills,  like 
a  drowsy  boy  to  his  bed,  radiant  and  weary  from 
his  day's  sport.  The  villagers  were  up  at  Dal- 
grothe  Mountain  soldiering  for  Valmond.  Every 
evening,  when  the  haymakers  put  up  their  scythes, 
the  mill-wheel  stopped  turning,  and  the  Angelus 
ceased,  the  men  marched  away  into  the  hills,  where 
the  ardent  "  Napoleon  "  had  pitched  his  camp. 

Tents,  muskets,  ammunition  came  out  of  dark 
places,  as  they  are  ever  sure  to  come  when  the  war- 
trumpet  sounds.  All  seems  peace,  but  suddenly, 
at  the  wild  call,  the  latent  barbarian  in  human 
nature  springs  up  and  is  ready  ;  and  the  cruder 
the  arms  the  fiercer  the  temper  that  wields. 

Recruits  now  arrived  from  other  parishes,  and 
besides  those  who  came  every  night  to  drill,  there 
were  others  who  stayed  always  in  camp.  The 
limeburner  left  his  kiln,  and  sojourned  with  his 
dogs  at  Dalgrothe  Mountain,  the  mealman  neg- 
lected his  trade,  and  Lajeunesse  was  not  to  be 
found  at  his  blacksmith  shop,  save  after  dark, 
when  the  red  glow  of  his  forge  could  be  seen  till 
midnight.  He  was  captain  of  a  company  in  the 
daytime,  forgeron  at  night. 

Valmond,  no  longer  fantastic  in  dress,  speech, 


138        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

or  manner,  was  happy,  busy,  buoyed  up  and  cast 
down  by  turn,  troubled,  exhilarated.  He  could 
not  understand  these  variations  of  health  and 
mood.  He  had  not  felt  equably  well  since  the 
night  of  Gabriel's  burial  in  the  miasmic  airs  of 
the  mountain.  At  times  he  felt  a  wonderful  light- 
ness of  head  and  heart,  with  splendid  hopes ; 
again  a  heaviness  and  an  aching,  accompanied  by 
a  feeling  of  doom.  He  fought  the  depression,  and 
appeared  always  before  his  men  cheerful  and  alert. 
He  was  neither  looking  back  nor  looking  forward, 
but  living  in  his  dramatic  theme  from  day  to  day, 
and  wondering  if,  after  all,  this  movement,  by  some 
joyful,  extravagant  chance,  might  not  carry  him 
on  even  to  the  chambers  of  the  Tuileries. 

From  the  first  day  that  he  had  gathered  these 
peasants  about  him,  had  convinced,  almost  against 
their  will,  the  wise  men  of  the  village,  this  fanciful 
adventure  had  been  growing  a  deep  reality  to  him. 
He  had  convinced  himself ;  he  felt  that  he  could, 
in  a  larger  sphere,  gather  thousands  about  him 
where  he  now  gathered  scores — with  a  good  cause. 
Well,  was  his  cause  not  good  ? 

There  were  others  to  whom  this  growing  reality 
was  painful.  The  young  Seigneur  was  serious 
enough  about  it,  and  more  than  once,  irritated  and 
perturbed,  he  sought  Madame  Chalice  ;  but  she 
gave  him  no  encouragement,  remarking  coldly 
that  Monsieur  Valmond  probably  knew  very  well 
what  he  was  doing,  and  was  weighing  all  conse- 
quences. 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        139 

She  had  become  interested  in  a  passing  drama, 
and  De  la  Riviere's  attentions  produced  no  im- 
pression on  her,  and  gave  her  no  pleasure.  They 
were,  however,  not  obtrusive.  She  had  seen 
much  of  him  two  years  before ;  he  had  been  a 
good  friend  of  her  husband.  She  was  amused  at 
his  attentions  then  :  she  had  little  to  occupy  her, 
and  she  felt  herself  superior  to  any  man's  emo- 
tions ;  not  such  as  this  young  Seigneur  could  win 
her  away  from  her  passive  but  certain  fealty.  She 
had  played  with  fire,  from  the  very  spirit  of  adven- 
ture in  her,  but  she  had  not  been  burnt. 

"You  say  he  is  an  impostor,  dear  monsieur," 
she  said  languidly.  "  Do  pray  exert  yourself,  and 
prove  him  one.  What  is  your  evidence  ?  " 

She  leaned  back  in  the  very  chair  where  she 
had  sat  looking  at  Valmond  two  weeks  before, 
her  fingers  idly  smoothing  out  the  folds  of  her 
dress. 

"  Oh,  the  thing  is  impossible,"  he  answered, 
blowing  the  smoke  of  a  cigarette  ;  "  we've  had  no 
real  proof  of  his  birth,  and  life — and  so  on." 

"  But  there  are  relics  ! "  she  said  suggestively, 
and  she  picked  up  the  miniature  of  the  Emperor. 

"  Owning  a  skeleton  doesn't  make  it  your  an- 
cestor," he  answered. 

He  laughed,  for  he  was  pleased  at  his  own 
cleverness,  and  he  also  wished  to  remain  good- 
tempered. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  at  last  take  the  true 
attitude  towards  this,"  she  responded  brightly. 


140       WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

"  If  it's  a  comedy,  enjoy  it.  If  it's  a  tragedy — " 
she  drew  herself  up  with  a  little  shudder,  for  she 
was  thinking  of  that  figure  dropping  from  £lise's 
window — "you  cannot  stop  it.  Tragedy  is  inevi- 
table ;  it's  only  comedy  that  is  within  the  gift  and 
governance  of  mortals." 

For  a  moment  she  was  lost  in  the  thought  of 
£lise,  of  Valmond's  vulgarity  and  commonness  ; 
and  he  had  dared  to  speak  words  of  admiration 
to  her  !  She  flushed  to  the  hair,  as  she  had  done 
fifty  times  since  she  had  seen  him  that  moonlit 
night.  Ah,  she  had  thought  him  the  dreamer, 
the  enthusiast — maybe,  in  kind,  credulous  mo- 
ments, the  great  man  he  claimed  to  be ;  and  he 
had  only  been  the  sensualist  after  all  !  That  he 
did  not  love  £lise,  she  knew  well  enough  ;  he  had 
been  cold-blooded  ;  in  this,  at  least,  he  was  Napo- 
leonic. 

She  had  not  spoken  with  him  since  that  night, 
but  she  had  had  two  long  letters  superscribed,  "In 
Camp,  Headquarters,  Dalgrothe  Mountain"  and 
these  had  breathed  only  patriotism,  the  love  of  a 
cause,  the  warmth  of  a  strong,  virile  temperament, 
almost  a  poetical  abandon  of  unnamed  ambitions 
and  achievements.  She  had  read  the  letters 
again  and  again,  for  she  had  found  it  hard  to  rec- 
oncile them  with  her  later  knowledge  of  this  man. 
He  wrote  to  her  as  to  a  confederate,  frankly, 
warmly.  She  felt  the  genuine  thing  in  him  some- 
where ;  and,  in  spite  of  all,  she  had  a  sort  of  sym- 
pathy for  him.  Yet  that  scene — that  scene !  She 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        141 

crimsoned  with  anger  again,  and,  in  spite  of  her 
smiling  lips,  the  young  Seigneur  saw  and  won- 
dered. 

"The  thing  must  end  soon,"  he  said,  as  he  rose 
to  go,  for  a  messenger  had  come  for  him.  "He 
is  injuring  the  peace,  the  trade,  and  the  life  of  the 
parishes  ;  he  is  gathering  men  and  arms,  drilling, 
exploiting  military  designs  in  one  country,  to 
proceed  against  another.  England  is  at  peace 
with  France  !  " 

"  An  international  matter,  this  ?  "  she  asked 
sarcastically. 

"  Yes.  The  Government  at  Quebec  is  English  ; 
we  are  French,  and  he  is  French  ;  and  I  repeat, 
this  thing  is  serious." 

She  smiled.  "  I  am  an  American.  I  have  no 
responsibility." 

"  They  might  arrest  you  for  aiding  and  abetting 
if " 

"  If  what,  dear  and  cheerful  friend  ?  " 

"  If  I  did  not  make  it  right  for  you."  He  smiled 
indulgently. 

She  touched  his  arm,  and  said  with  ironical 
sweetness  :  "  How  you  relieve  my  mind  !  "  Then, 
with  delicate  insinuation  :  "  I  have  a  lot  of  old 
muskets  here,  at  least  a  hundred  pounds  of  pow- 
der, and  plenty  of  provisions,  and  I  will  send  them 
to — Napoleon." 

He  instantly  became  grave.     "  I  warn  you " 

She  interrupted  him.  "  Nonsense  !  You  warn 
me  !  "  She  laughed  mockingly.  "  I  warn  you, 


142        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

dear  Seigneur,  that  you  will  be  more  sorry  than 
satisfied  if  you  meddle  in  this  matter." 

"You  are  going  to  send  those  things  to  him  ?  " 
he  asked  anxiously. 

"  Certainly — and  food  every  day." 

And  she  kept  her  word. 

De  la  Riviere,  as  he  went  down  the  hill,  thought 
with  irritation  of  how  ill  things  were  going  with 
him  and  Madame  Chalice — so  different  from  two 
years  ago,  when  their  friendship  had  first  begun. 
He  had  remembered  her  with  a  singular  persist- 
ency, he  had  looked  forward  to  her  coming  back, 
and  when  she  came,  his  heart  had  fluttered  like  a 
school-boy's.  But  things  had  changed.  Clearly, 
she  was  interested  in  this  impostor.  Was  it  the 
man  himself  or  the  adventure  ?  He  did  not  know. 
But  the  adventure  was  the  man — and,  who  could 
tell  ?  Once  he  thought  he  had  detected  some 
warmth  for  himself  in  her  eye,  in  the  clasp  of  her 
hand  ;  now !  A  spirit  of  black,  ungentle- 
manly  malignity  seized  upon  him. 

It  possessed  him  most  strongly  at  the  moment 
he  was  passing  the  home  of  £lise  Malboir.  The 
girl  was  standing  by  the  gate,  looking  towards 
the  village.  Her  brow  was  a  little  heavy,  so  that 
it  gave  her  eyes  at  all  times  a  deep  look,  but  now 
De  la  Riviere  saw  that  they  were  brooding  as 
well.  There  was  a  pathetic  sadness  in  the  poise 
of  the  head.  He  did  not  take  off  his  hat  to  her. 

"  Oh,  grand  to  the  war  he  goes, 
O  gaiy  vive  le  rot  !  " 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        143 

he  said  teasingly.  He  thought  she  might  have  a 
lover  among  the  recruits  at  Dalgrothe  Mountain. 

She  turned  to  him,  startled,  for  she  thought  he 
meant  Valmond.  She  did  not  speak,  but  became 
very  still  and  pale. 

"  Better  tie  him  up  with  a  garter,  Elise,  and  get 
the  old  uncle  back  to  Ville  Bambord.  Trouble's 
coming.  The  game  '11  soon  be  up." 

"What  trouble  ?  "  she  faltered. 

"Battle,  murder,  and  sudden  death,"  he  an- 
swered and  passed  on  with  a  sour  laugh. 

She  slowly  repeated  his  words,  looked  towards 
the  Manor  House  with  a  strange  expression,  then 
went  up  to  her  little  bedroom,  and  sat  on  the  edge 
of  the  bed  for  a  long  time,  where  she  had  sat  with 
Valmond.  Every  word,  every  incident,  of  that 
night  came  back  to  her,  and  her  heart  filled  up 
with  worship.  It  flowed  over  into  her  eyes,  and 
fell  upon  her  clasped  hands.  If  trouble  did  come 
to  him  ? — He  had  given  her  a  new  world,  he  should 
have  her  life  and  all  else  besides. 

A  half  hour  later  De  la  Riviere  came  rapping  at 
the  Cure"s  door.  The  sun  was  almost  gone,  the 
smell  of  the  hayfields  floated  over  the  village,  and 
all  was  quiet  in  the  streets.  Women  gossiped  in 
their  doorways,  but  there  was  no  stir  anywhere. 
With  the  young  Seigneur  was  the  member  of  the 
legislature  for  the  county.  His  mood  was  different 
from  that  of  his  previous  visit  to  Pontiac,  for  he 
had  been  told  that  whether  the  cavalier  adven- 
turer was  or  was  not  a  Napoleon,  this  campaign 


144       WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

was  illegal.  He  had  made  no  move.  Being  a 
member  of  the  legislature,  he  naturally  shirked 
responsibility,  and  he  had  come  to  see  the  young 
Seigneur,  who  was  justice  of  the  peace,  and  prac- 
tically mayor  of  the  county.  They  found  the 
Cure",  the  avocat,  and  Medallion,  talking  together. 

The  three  were  greatly  distressed  by  the  repre- 
sentations of  the  member,  and  Monsieur  De  la 
Riviere.  The  Cure*  turned  to  the  avocat,  inquir- 
ingly. 

"  The  law,  the  law  of  the  case  is  clear,"  he  said 
helplessly.  "If  the  peace  is  disturbed,  if  there 
is  conspiracy  to  injure  a  country  not  at  war  with 
our  own,  if  arms  are  borne  with  menace,  if  his 
Excellency " 

"  His  Excellency  !  my  faith  ! — you're  an  ass, 
Garon  !  "  cried  the  young  Seigneur,  with  an  angry 
sneer. 

For  once  in  his  life  the  avocat  bridled  up.  He 
got  to  his  feet  and  stood  silent  an  instant,  raising 
himself  up  and  down  on  his  tip-toes,  his  lips  com- 
pressed, his  small  body  suddenly  contracting  to  a 
firmness,  and  grown  to  a  height,  his  eyelids  work- 
ing quickly.  To  the  end  of  his  life  the  Cure*  re- 
membered and  talked  of  the  moment  when  the 
avocat  gave  battle.  To  him  it  was  superb — he 
never  could  have  done  it  himself. 

"  I  repeat,  his  Excellency,  Monsieur  De  la  Rivi- 
£re.  My  information  is  greater  than  yours,  both 
by  accident  and  through  knowledge.  I  accept 
him  as  a  Napoleon,  and,  as  a  Frenchman,  I  have 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        145 

no  cause  to  blush  for  my  homage,  nor  my  faith, 
nor  for  his  Excellency.  He  is  a  man  of  loving 
disposition,  of  great  knowledge,  of  power  to  win 
men,  of  deep  ideas,  of  large  courage.  Monsieur, 
I  cannot  forget  the  tragedy  he  stayed  at  the  smithy, 
with  risk  of  his  own  life.  I  cannot  forget " 

The  Cure*,  anticipating,  nodded  at  him  encourag- 
ingly. Probably  the  avocat  intended  to  say  some- 
thing quite  different,  but  the  look  in  the  Curb's 
eyes  prompted  him,  and  he  continued  : 

"  I  cannot  forget  that  he  has  given  to  the  poor, 
and  liberally  to  the  Church,  and  has  made  and 
promised  benefits  to  the  deserving — ah,  no,  no,  my 
dear  Seigneur !  " 

He  had  delivered  his  speech  in  a  quaint,  quick 
way,  as  though  addressing  a  jury,  and  when  he 
had  finished,  he  sat  down  again,  and  nodded  his 
head,  and  tapped  his  feet  on  the  floor,  and  the  Cure" 
did  the  same,  looking  inquiringly  at  De  la  Riviere. 

This  was  the  first  time  there  had  been  trouble 
in  the  little  coterie.  They  had  never  differed  pain- 
fully before.  Tall  Medallion  longed  to  say  some- 
thing, but  he  waited  for  the  Cur£  to  speak. 

"What  have  you  to  say,  Monsieur  le  Cur6?" 
asked  De  la  Riviere,  testily. 

"  My  dear  friend  Monsieur  Garon  has  answered 
for  us  both,"  replied  the  Cure",  quietly. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  will  not  act  with 
me  to  stop  this  thing,"  he  urged,  "  not  even  for 
the  safety  of  the  people  ?  " 

The  reply  was  calm  and  resolute. 


146        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

"  My  people  shall  have  my  prayers  and  my  life, 
when  needed,  but  I  do  not  feel  called  upon  to  act 
for  the  state.  I  have  the  honor  to  be  a  friend  of— 
his  Excellency." 

"  By  Heaven,  the  state  shall  act  !  "  cried  De  la 
Riviere,  fierce  with  rancour.  "  I  shall  go  to  this 
Valmond  to-night,  with  my  friend  the  member 
here.  I  shall  warn  him,  and  call  upon  the  people 
to  disperse.  If  he  doesn't  listen,  let  him  beware  ! 
I  seem  to  stand  alone  in  the  care  of  Pontiac  ! " 

The  avocat  turned  to  his  desk.  "  No,  no  ;  I  will 
write  you  a  legal  opinion,"  he  said  with  profes- 
sional honesty.  "  You  shall  have  my  legal  help  ; 
but  for  the  rest,  I  am  one  with  my  dear  Cure*." 

"  Well,  Medallion,  you,  too  ? "  asked  De  la 
Riviere. 

"  I'll  go  with  you  to  the  camp,"  answered  the 
auctioneer.  "  Fair  play  is  all  I  care  for.  Pontiac 
will  come  out  of  this  all  right.  Come  along." 

But  the  avocat  kept  them  till  he  had  written  his 
legal  opinion,  and  handed  it  courteously  to  the 
young  Seigneur.  They  all  were  very  silent.  There 
had  been  a  discourtesy,  and  it  lay  like  a  cloud  on 
the  coterie.  De  la  Riviere  opened  the  door  to  go 
out,  after  bowing  to  the  Cure"  and  the  avocat,  who 
stood  up  with  mannered  politeness,  but  presently 
turned,  came  back,  was  about  to  speak,  when, 
catching  sight  of  a  miniature  of  Valmond  on  the 
avocat's  desk,  before  which  was  set  a  bunch  of  vio- 
lets, he  wheeled  and  left  the  room  without  a  word. 

The  moon  had  not  yet  risen,  but  stars  were 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO   PONTIAC        147 

shining,  when  the  young  Seigneur  and  the  member 
came  to  Dalgrothe  Mountain.  On  one  side  of 
the  Rock  of  Red  Pigeons  was  a  precipice  and  wild 
water  ;  on  the  other  was  a  deep  valley  like  a  cup, 
and  in  the  centre  of  this  was  a  sort  of  plateau  or 
gentle  slope.  Dalgrothe  Mountain  towered  above. 
Upon  this  plateau  Valmond  had  pitched  his  tents. 
There  was  water,  there  was  good  air,  and  for  pur- 
poses of  drill — or  defence — it  was  excellent.  The 
approaches  were  patrolled,  so  that  no  outside  strag- 
glers could  reach  either  the  Rock  of  Red  Pigeons 
or  the  valley,  or  see  what  was  going  on  below, 
without  permission.  Lagroin  was  everywhere, 
drilling,  commanding,  brow-beating  his  recruits 
one  minute,  and  praising  them  the  next,  and 
Lajeunesse,  Garotte,  Muroc,  and  Duclosse  were 
invaluable,  each  after  his  kind. 

The  young  Seigneur  and  his  companions  passed 
unchallenged,  on  up  to  the  Rock  of  Red  Pigeons. 
Looking  down,  they  had  a  perfect  view  of  the 
encampment.  The  tents  had  come  from  lumber- 
camps,  from  river-driving  gangs,  and  from  private 
stores ;  there  was  no  regular  uniform,  but  flags 
were  flying  everywhere,  many  fires  were  burning, 
the  voice  of  Lagroin  in  command  came  up  the 
valley  loudly,  and  Valmond  sat  on  his  horse 
watching  the  drill  and  a  march  past.  The  fires 
lit  up  the  sides  of  the  valley  and  glorified  the 
mountains  beyond.  In  this  inspiring  air  it  was 
impossible  to  feel  an  accent  of  disaster  or  the 
stealthy  footfall  of  ruin. 


148        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

The  three  came  down  into  the  valley,  then  up 
onto  the  plateau,  where  they  were  challenged, 
allowed  to  pass,  and  came  to  where  Valmond  sat 
upon  his  horse.  At  sight  of  them,  with  a  suspi- 
cion of  the  truth,  he  ordered  Lagroin  to  march  the 
men  down  the  long  plateau.  They  made  a  good 
figure  filing  past  the  three  visitors,  as  the  young 
Seigneur  admitted. 

Valmond  dismounted,  and  waited  for  them. 
He  looked  weary,  and  there  were  dark  circles 
round  his  eyes,  as  though  he  had  an  illness  ;  but  he 
stood  erect  and  dignified.  His  uniform  was  that 
of  a  general  of  the  Empire.  It  was  rather  dingy, 
yet  it  was  of  rich  material,  and  he  wore  the  rib- 
bon of  the  Legion  of  Honor  on  his  breast.  His 
paleness  did  not  arise  from  fear,  for  when  his  eyes 
met  Monsieur  De  la  Riviere's  there  was  in  them 
waiting  inquiry, — nothing  more.  He  greeted 
them  all  politely,  and  Medallion  warmly,  shaking 
his  hand  twice,  for  he  knew  well  that  the  gaunt 
auctioneer  had  only  kindness  in  his  heart,  and 
they  had  exchanged  humorous  stories  more  than 
once — a  friendly  bond. 

He  motioned  to  his  tent  near  by,  but  the  young 
Seigneur  declined. 

"  It  is  business,  and  imperative,"  he  said.  Val- 
mond bowed.  "  Isn't  it  time  this  comedy  was 
finished  ?  "  continued  De  la  Riviere,  waving  his 
hand  towards  the  encampment. 

"My  presence  here  is  my  reply, "answered  Val- 
mond. "  But  how  does  it  concern  monsieur  ?  " 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        149 

"  All  that  concerns  Pontiac  concerns  me." 

"  And  me  ;  I  am  as  good  a  citizen  as  you." 

"  You  are  troubling  our  people.  This  is  illegal 
— this  bearing  arms,  these  purposes  of  yours.  It 
is  mere  filibustering,  and  you  are  an " 

Valmond  waved  his  hand,  as  if  to  stop  the  word. 
"  I  am  Valmond  Napoleon,  monsieur." 

"  If  you  do  not  promise  to  drop  this,  I  will  arrest 
you,"  said  De  la  Riviere,  sharply. 

"  You  ?  "    Valmond  smiled  ironically. 

•"  I  am  a  justice  of  the  peace.    I  have  the  power." 

"  I  have  the  power  to  prevent  arrest,  and  I 
will  prevent  it,  monsieur.  You  alone  of  all  this 
parish,  I  believe  of  all  this  province,  turn  a  sour 
face,  a  sour  heart  to  me.  I  regret  it,  but  I  do  not 
fear  it." 

"  I  will  have  you  in  custody,  or  there  is  no  law 
in  Quebec." 

Valmond 's  face  had  become  a  feverish  red,  and 
he  made  an  impatient  gesture.  Both  men  were 
filled  with  bitterness,  for  both  knew  well  that  the 
touchstone  of  this  malice  was  Madame  Chalice. 
Hatred  looked  out  of  their  eyes.  It  was,  each 
knew,  a  fight  to  the  dark  end. 

"  There  is  *not  law  enough  to  justify  you,  mon- 
sieur," answered  Valmond,  quickly. 

"Be  persuaded,  monsieur,"  said  the  member  to 
Valmond,  with  a  smirking  gesture. 

"  All  this  country  could  not  persuade  me  ;  only 
France  can  do  that,  and  first  I  shall  persuade 
France,"  he  answered. 


ISO       WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

"  Mummer  !  "  broke  out  De  la  RiviSre.  "  By 
Heaven,  I  will  arrest  you  now  !  " 

He  stepped  forward,  putting  his  hand  in  his 
breast,  as  if  to  draw  a  weapon,  though,  in  truth, 
it  was  a  summons. 

Like  lightning  the  dwarf  shot  in  between,  and 
a  sword  flashed  up  at  De  la  Riviere's  breast. 

"  I  saved  your  father's  life,  but  I  will  take  yours, 
if  you  step  farther,  dear  Seigneur,"  he  said 
coolly. 

Valmond  had  not  stirred,  but  his  face  had  be- 
come pale  again. 

"  That  will  do,  Parpon,"  he  said  quietly.  "Mon- 
sieur had  best  go,"  he  added  to  De  la  Riviere, 
"  or  even  his  beloved  law  may  not  save  him  !  " 

"  I  will  put  an  end  to  this,"  cried  the  other,  burst- 
ing with  anger.  "  Come,  gentlemen,"  he  said 
to  his  companions,  and  turned  away. 

Medallion  lingered  behind  the  others. 

"  Your  Excellency,  if  ever  you  need  me,  let  me 
know.  I'd  do  much  to  prove  myself  no  enemy," 
he  said. 

Valmond  gave  him  his  hand  gratefully,  bowed, 
and  beckoning  a  soldier  to  take  his  horse,  walked 
towards  his  tent.  He  swayed  slightly  as  he  went, 
then  a  trembling  seized  him.  He  staggered  as 
he  entered  the  door  of  the  tent,  and  Parpon,  see- 
ing him,  ran  forward,  and  caught  him  in  his  arms. 
The  little  man  laid  him  down,  felt  his  pulse,  his 
heart,  saw  the  dark  stain  on  his  lips,  and  cried  out 
in  a  great  fear  : 


WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC        151 

"  My  God  !  The  black  fever !  Ah,  my  Napo- 
leon!" 

For  hours  Valmond  lay  in  a  burning  stupor, 
and  word  went  abroad  that  he  might  die  ;  but 
Parpon  insisted  that  all  would  be  well  presently, 
and  as  no  one  but  the  Little  Chemist  and  the  Cure* 
were  permitted  to  come  in  or  near  the  tent,  his 
anxious  followers  were  fain  to  content  themselves 
with  the  dwarfs  assurance  of  his  recovery. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

JL  HE  sickness  had  come  like  a  whirlwind  :  when 
it  passed,  what  would  be  left  ?  The  fight  went  on 
in  the  quiet  hills — a  man  of  no  great  stature  or 
strength,  against  a  monster  who  racked  him  in 
a  fierce  embrace.  A  thousand  scenes  flashed 
through  Valmond's  brain,  before  his  eyes,  while 
the  great  wheel  of  torture  went  round,  and  he  was 
broken,  broken, — mended  and  broken  again,  upon 
it.  Spinning — he  was  forever  spinning,  like  a  tire- 
less moth  through  a  fiery  air,  and  the  world  went 
roaring  past.  In  vain  he  cried  to  the  wheelman 
to  stop  the  wheel :  there  was  no  answer.  Would 
those  stars  never  cease  blinking  in  and  out,  nor 
the  wind  stop  whipping  the  swift  clouds  past  ? 
So  he  went  on,  endless  years,  driving  through 
space,  some  terrible  intangible  weight  dragging  at 
his  heart,  and  all  his  body  panting  as  it  spun. 

Grotesque  faces  came  and  went,  and  bright-eyed 
women  floated  by,  laughing  at  him,  beckoning  to 
him  ;  but  he  could  not  come,  because  of  this  tire- 
less going.  He  heard  them  singing,  he  felt  the 
divine  notes  in  his  battered  soul ;  he  tried  to  weep 
for  the  hopeless  joy  of  it ;  but  the  tears  came  no 
higher  than  his  throat.  Why  did  they  mock  him 
so  ?  At  last,  all  the  figures  merged  into  one,  and 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        153 

she  had  the  face — ah,  he  had  known  it  well,  cen- 
turies ago  ! — of  Madame  Chalice.  Strange  that 
she  was  so  young  still,  and  that  was  so  long  past 
— when  he  stood  on  a  mountain,  and,  clambering 
a  high  wall  of  rock,  looked  over  into  a  happy  No- 
man's  Land. 

Why  did  the  face  elude  him  so,  flashing  in  and 
out  of  the  vapors  ?  Why  was  its  look  sorrowful 
and  distant  ?  And  yet  there  was  that  perfect  smile, 
that  adorable  aspect  of  the  brow,  that  light  in  the 
deep  eyes.  He  tried  to  stop  the  eternal  spinning, 
but  it  went  remorselessly  on  ;  and  presently  the 
face  was  gone  ;  but  not  till  it  had  given  him  ease 
of  his  pain. 

Then  came  fighting,  fighting,  nothing  but  fight- 
ing— endless  charges  of  cavalry,  continuous 
wheelings,  and  advancings,  and  retreatings,  and 
the  mad  din  of  drums  ;  afterwards,  in  a  swift  quiet, 
the  deep,  even  thud  of  horses'  hoofs  striking  the 
ground.  Flags  and  banners  flaunted  gayly  by. 
How  the  helmets  flashed,  and  the  foam  flew  from 
the  bits  !  But  those  flocks  of  blackbirds  flying 
over  the  heads  of  the  misty  horsemen — they  made 
him  shiver.  Battle,  battle,  battle,  and  death,  and 
being  born — he  felt  it  all. 

Suddenly  there  came  a  wide  peace  and  clear- 
ing, and  the  everlasting  jar  and  movement  ceased. 
Then  a  great  pause,  and  light  streamed  round 
him,  comforting  him. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  lying  helpless  and 
still  by  falling  water  in  a  valley.  The  water 


154        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTlAC 

soothed  him,  and  he  fell  asleep.  After  a  long 
time  he  waked,  and  dimly  knew  that  a  face,  good 
to  look  at,  was  bending  over  him.  In  a  vague, 
far-off  way  he  saw  that  it  was  £lise  Malboir  ; 
but,  even  as  he  knew  this,  his  eyes  closed,  the 
world  dropped  away,  and  he  sank  to  sleep 
again. 

It  was  no  fantasy  or  delirium ;  for  £lise  had 
come.  She  had  knelt  beside  his  bed,  and  given 
him  drink,  and  smoothed  his  pillow  ;  and  once, 
when  no  one  was  in  the  tent,  she  stooped  and 
kissed  his  hot  dark  lips,  and  whispered  words 
that  were  not  for  his  ears  to  hear,  nor  to  be  heard 
by  any  of  this  world.  The  good  Cure*  found  her 
there.  He  had  not  heart  to  bid  her  go  home, 
and  he  made  it  clear  to  the  villagers  that  he 
approved  of  her  great  kindness.  But  he  bade 
her  mother  come  also,  and  she  stayed  in  a  tent 
near  by. 

Lagroin  and  sixty  men  held  the  encampment, 
and  every  night  the  recruits  came  from  the  village, 
drilled  as  before,  and  waited  for  the  fell  disease 
to  pass.  None  knew  its  exact  nature,  but  now 
and  again,  in  long  years,  some  one  going  to 
Dalgrothe  Mountain  was  seized  by  it,  and  died, 
or  was  left  stricken  with  a  great  loss  of  the  senses 
or  the  limbs.  Yet  once  or  twice,  they  said,  men 
had  come  up  from  it  no  worse  at  all.  There 
was  no  known  cure,  and  the  Little  Chemist  could 
only  watch  the  swift  progress  of  the  fever,  and  use 
simple  remedies  to  allay  the  suffering.  Parpon 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        155 

guessed  that  the  disease  had  seized  upon  Valmond 
the  night  of  the  burial  of  Gabriel.  He  remem- 
bered now  the  sickly,  pungent  air  that  floated 
past,  and  how  Valmond,  weak  from  the  loss  of 
blood  in  the  fight  at  the  smithy,  shuddered,  and 
drew  his  cloak  about  him.  A  few  days  would 
end  it,  for  good  or  ill. 

Madame  Chalice  received  the  news  with  con- 
sternation, and  pity  would  have  sent  her  to  Val- 
mond's  bedside,  but  that  she  had  heard  that  £lise 
was  his  faithful  nurse  and  servitor.  This  fixed  in 
her  mind  the  belief  that  if  Valmond  died  he  would 
leave  both  misery  and  shame  behind  ;  and  that  if 
he  lived  she  should,  in  any  case,  see  him  no  more. 
But  she  sent  wines  and  delicacies  to  him,  and  de- 
spatched a  messenger  to  a  city  sixty  miles  away, 
for  the  best  physician.  Then  she  sought  the  avocat 
to  find  whether  he  had  any  exact  information  as 
to  Valmond's  friends  in  Quebec  or  in  France. 
She  had  promised  not  to  be  his  enemy,  and  she 
remembered  with  a  sort  of  sorrow  that  she  had 
even  let  him  believe  that  she  meant  to  be  his 
friend  ;  and,  having  promised,  she  would  help  him 
in  his  sore  strait. 

She  had  heard  of  De  la  Riviere's  visit  to  Val- 
mond, and  she  intended  sending  for  him,  but 
delayed  it.  The  avocat  told  her  nothing  ;  matters 
were  in  abeyance,  and  she  abided  the  issue ; 
meanwhile  getting  news  of  the  sick  man  twice 
a  day.  But  she  used  all  her  influence  to  keep 
up  the  feeling  for  him  in  the  parish,  to  prevent 


156        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

flagging  of  enthusiasm.  This  she  did  out  of  a 
large  heart,  and  a  kind  of  loyalty  to  her  own  tem- 
perament and  to  his  ardor  for  his  cause.  Until 
he  was  proved  the  comedian  (in  spite  of  the  young 
Seigneur)  she  would  stand  by  him,  so  far  as  his 
public  career  was  concerned.  Misfortune  could 
not  make  her  turn  from  a  man ;  it  was  then  she 
gave  him  a  helping  hand.  After  all,  what  was 
between  him  and  Jilise  was  for  their  own  souls 
and  consciences. 

As  she  passed  the  little  cottage  in  the  fields  the 
third  morning  of  Valmond's  illness,  she  saw  the 
girl  entering.  £lise  had  come  to  get  some  neces- 
saries for  Valmond  and  for  her  mother.  She  was 
very  pale  ;  her  face  had  gained  a  spirituality,  a 
refinement,  new  and  touching.  Madame  Chalice 
was  tempted  to  go  and  speak  to  her,  and  started 
to  do  so,  but  turned  back. 

"  No,  no,  not  until  we  know  the  worst  of  this 
illness — then  !  "  she  said  to  herself. 

But  ten  minutes  later  De  la  Riviere  was  not  so 
kind.  He  had  guessed  a  little  at  Rise's  secret, 
and  as  he  passed  the  house  on  the  way  to  visit 
Madame  Chalice,  seeing  the  girl,  he  stopped  at  her 
door  and  said : 

"  How  is  the  distinguished  gentleman,  £lise  ? 
I  hear  you  are  his  slave." 

The  girl  turned  a  little  pale.  She  was  passing 
a  hot  iron  over  some  coarse  sheets,  and  pausing, 
she  looked  steadily  at  him  and  replied  : 

"  It  is  not  far  to  Dalgrothe  Mountain,  monsieur." 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        157 

"  The  journey's  too  long  for  me  ;  I  haven't  your 
hot  young  blood,"  he  said  coarsely. 

"It  was  not  so  long  a  dozen  years  ago, 
monsieur." 

De  la  Riviere  flushed  to  his  hair.  That  memory 
was  a  bitter  chapter  in  his  life — a  boyish  folly, 
which  involved  the  miller's  wife.  He  had  buried 
it,  the  village  had  forgotten  it, — such  of  it  as  knew, 
— and  the  remembrance  of  it  stung  him.  He  had, 
however,  brought  it  on  himself,  and  he  must  eat 
the  bitter  fruit. 

The  girl's  eyes  were  cold  and  hard.  She  knew 
him  to  be  Valmond's  enemy,  and  she  had  no  idea 
of  sparing  him.  She  knew  also  that  he  had  been 
courteous  enough  to  send  a  man  each  day  to  in- 
quire after  Valmond,  but  that  was  not  to  the 
point ;  he  was  torturing  her,  he  had  prophesied 
the  downfall  of  her  "  spurious  Napoleon." 

"  It  will  be  too  long  a  journey  for  you,  and  for 
all  presently,"  he  said. 

"  You  mean  that  his  Excellency  will  die  ?  "  she 
asked,  her  heart  beating  so  hard  that  it  hurt  her. 
Yet  the  flat-iron  moved  backwards  and  forwards 
upon  the  sheets  mechanically. 

"  Or  fight  a  Government,"  he  answered.  "  He 
has  had  a  good  time,  and  good  times  can't  last 
forever,  can  they,  Elise  ?  Have  you  ever  thought 
of  that?" 

She  gasped  for  breath  and  swayed  over  the  table. 
In  an  instant  he  was  beside  her  ;  for,  though  he 
had  been  irritable  and  ungenerous,  he  had  at  bot- 


158        WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

torn  a  kind  heart.  Catching  up  a  glass  of  water, 
he  ran  an  arm  round  her  waist,  and  held  the  cup 
to  her  lips. 

"What's  the  matter,  my  girl?"  he  asked. 
"There,  pull  yourself  together." 

She  drew  away  from  him,  though  grateful  for 
his  new  attitude.  She  could  not  bear  everything. 
She  felt  nervous  and  strangely  weak. 

"  Won't  you  go,  monsieur  ? "  she  said,  and 
turned  to  her  ironing  again. 

He  looked  at  her  closely,  and  not  unkindly. 
For  a  moment  the  thought  possessed  him,  that 
evil  and  ill  had  come  to  her.  But  he  put  it  away 
from  him,  for  there  was  that  in  her  eyes  which 
gave  his  quick  suspicions  the  lie.  He  guessed, 
however,  that  the  girl  loved  Valmond,  and  he  left 
her  with  that  thought.  Going  up  the  hill,  deep  in 
meditation,  he  called  at  the  Manor,  to  find  that 
Madame  Chalice  was  absent,  and  would  not  be 
back  till  evening. 

When  £lise  was  alone,  a  weakness  seized  her 
again,  as  it  had  done  when  De  la  Riviere  was 
present.  She  had  had  no  sleep  in  four  days,  and 
it  was  wearing  on  her,  she  told  herself,  refusing 
to  believe  that  a  sickness  was  coming.  She  went 
up  to  her  little  bedroom,  and,  leaning  against  the 
open  window,  figured  Valmond  in  her  mind,  as 
he  stood  in  this  place  and  that,  his  voice,  his  words 
to  her,  the  look  in  his  face,  the  clasp  of  his  hand. 

All  at  once  she  fell  on  her  knees  before  the  little 
shrine  of  the  Virgin,  and  burst  into  tears.  Her 


WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC        159 

rich  hair,  breaking  loose,  flowed  round  her — the 
picture  of  a  Magdalen  ;  but  it  was,  in  truth,  a 
pure  girl  with  an  honest  heart.  At  last  she 
calmed  herself  and  began  to  pray  : 

"  Ah,  dear  Mother  of  God,  thou  who  dost  speak 
for  the  sorrowful  before  thy  Son  and  the  Father,  be 
merciful  to  me  and  hear  me.  I  am  but  a  poor  girl, 
and  my  life  is  no  matter.  But  he  is  a  great  man, 
and  he  has  work  to  do,  and  he  is  true  and  kind,  and 
he  loves  thy  Son.  Oh,  pray  for  him,  divine  Mother, 
sweet  Mary,  that  he  may  be  saved  from  death. 
If  the  cup  must  be  emptied,  may  it  be  given  to  me 
to  drink  !  Oh,  see  how  all  the  people  come  to  him 
and  love  him !  For  the  saving  of  Madelinette, 
oh,  may  his  own  life  be  given  him  !  He  cannot 
pray  for  himself,  but  I  pray  for  him.  Dear  Mother 
of  God,  I  love  him,  and  I  would  lose  my  life  for 
his  sake.  Sweet  Mary,  comfort  thy  child,  and 
out  of  thy  own  sorrow  be  good  to  my  sorrow. 
Hear  me  and  pray  for.me,  divine  Mary  !  Amen." 

Her  whole  nature  emptied  itself  into  this  fervid 
petition,  and  there  came  upon  her  a  strange  calm- 
ness and  clearness  of  brain,  exhausted  in  body  as 
she  was. 

"  Madame  De*gardy  !  Madame  De*gardy  !  "  she 
cried  with  sudden  inspiration  as  she  rose  to  her 
feet.  "  Ah,  I  will  find  her  ;  she  may  save  him 
with  her  herbs  ! "  and  hurrying  out  of  the  house 
and  down  through  the  village,  she  sought  the  little 
hut  by  the  river,  where  the  old  woman  lived. 

£lise  had  been  to  Madame  De'gardy  as  good  a 


l6o        WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

friend,  as  a  half-mad  creature,  with  no  memory, 
would  permit  her.  Parpon  had  lived  for  years 
in  the  same  village,  but,  though  he  was  her  own 
son,  she  had  never  given  him  a  look  of  recognition, 
had  used  him  as  she  used  all  others.  In  turn,  the 
dwarf  had  never  told  any  one  but  Valmond  of  the 
relationship,  and  so  the  two  lived  their  strange 
lives  in  their  own  singular  way.  But  the  Cure"  knew 
who  it  was  that  kept  the  old  woman's  house  sup- 
plied with  wood  and  other  necessaries  during  the 
long  winters.  Parpon  himself  had  tried  to  sum- 
mon her  to  Valmond's  bedside,  for  he  knew  well 
her  skill  with  herbs,  but  the  little  hut  was  empty, 
and  he  could  get  no  trace  of  her.  She  had  disap- 
peared the  night  Valmond  was  seized  of  the  fever, 
and  she  came  back  to  her  little  home  in  the  very 
hour  that  6lise  visited  her.  The  girl  found  her 
boiling  some  savory  mess  before  a  big  fire.  She 
was  stirring  the  pot  diligently,  now  and  then 
sprinkling  in  what  looked  like  a  brown  dust,  and 
watching  the  brew  intently. 

She  nodded,  but  did  not  look  at  Iilise,  and  said 
crossly  : 

"  Come  in,  come  in,  and  shut  the  door,  silly." 

"  Madame,"  said  the  girl,  "  his  Excellency  has 
the  black  fever." 

"  What  of  that  ? "  returned  the  old  woman, 
irritably. 

"  I  thought  maybe  your  herbs  could  cure  him. 
You've  cured  others,  and  this  is  an  awful  sickness. 
Ah,  won't  you  save  him,  if  you  can  ?  " 


WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC        l6l 

"  What  are  you  to  him,  pale  face  ?  "  she  said, 
her  eyes  peering  into  the  pot. 

"  Nothing  more  to  him  than  you  are,  madame," 
the  girl  answered  wearily. 

"  I'll  cure  because  I  want,  not  because  you  ask 
me,  pretty  brat." 

Rise's  heart  gave  a  leap  :  these  very  herbs  that 
were  brewing  were  for  Valmond  !  The  old  woman 
had  travelled  far  to  get  the  medicaments  immedi- 
ately she  had  heard  of  Valmond's  illness.  Night 
and  day  she  had  trudged,  and  she  was  more 
brown  and  weather-beaten  than  ever. 

"The  black  fever  !  the  black  fever !  "  she  cried. 
"  I  know  it  well.  It's  most  like  a  plague.  I  know 
it.  But  I  know  the  cure — ha,  ha!  Come  along 
now,  feather-legs,  what  are  you  staring  there  for  ? 
Hold  that  jug  while  I  pour  the  darling  liquor  in. 
Ha,  ha !  Crazy  Joan  hasn't  lived  for  nothing. 
They  have  to  come  to  her ;  the  great  folks  have  to 
come  to  her." 

So  she  meandered  on,  while  filling  the  jug,  and 
in  the  warm  dusk  they  travelled  up  to  Dalgrothe 
Mountain,  and  came  to  Valmond's  tent.  By  the 
couch  knelt  Parpon,  watching  the  labored  breath- 
ing of  the  sick  man.  When  he  saw  Madame  De"- 
gardy,  he  gave  a  growl  of  joy,  and  instantly  made 
way  for  her.  She  pushed  him  back  with  her  stick 
contemptuously,  looked  Valmond  over,  ran  her 
fingers  down  his  cheek,  felt  his  throat,  and  at 
last  held  his  restless  hand.  £lise,  with  the  quick 
intelligence  of  love,  stood  ready.  The  old  woman 
ii 


1 62        WHEN  V ALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

caught  the  jug  from  her,  swung  it  into  the  hollow 
of  her  arm,  poured  the  cup  half  full,  and  motioned 
the  girl  to  lift  up  Valmond's  head.  £lise  raised  it 
to  her  bosom,  bending  her  face  down  close  to  his. 
Madame  De"gardy  instantly  pushed  back  her  head. 

"  Don't  get  his  breath — that's  death,  idiot !  " 
she  said,  and  began  to  slowly  pour  the  liquid  into 
Valmond's  mouth.  It  was  a  tedious  process  at 
first,  but  at  length  he  began  to  swallow  naturally, 
and  finished  the  cup. 

For  an  hour  there  was  no  change,  and  then  he 
became  less  restless.  After  another  cupful,  his 
eyes  half  opened.  Within  another  hour  a  per- 
spiration came,  and  he  was  very  quiet,  and  sleep- 
ing restfully.  Parpon  crouched  near  the  door, 
watching  it  all  with  deep  piercing  eyes.  Madame 
De"gardy  never  moved  from  her  place,  but  stood 
shaking  her  head  and  muttering.  At  last  Lagroin 
came,  and  whisperingly  asked  after  his  master  ; 
then  seeing  him  in  a  healthy  and  peaceful  sleep, 
he  stooped  and  kissed  the  hand  lying  upon  the 
blanket. 

"  Beloved  sire  !  Thank  the  good  God  ! "  he 
said. 

Soon  after  he  had  gone,  there  was  a  noise  of 
tramping  about  the  tent,  and  then  a  suppressed 
cheer,  which  was  fiercely  stopped  by  Parpon,  and 
the  soldiers  of  the  Household  Troops  scattered  to 
their  tents. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Valmond,  opening  his 
eyes  bewilderedly. 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        163 

"  Your  soldiers,  sire,"  answered  the  dwarf. 

Valmond  smiled  languidly.  Then  he  saw  Ma- 
dame De'gardy  and  £lise. 

"  I  am  very  sleepy,  dear  friends,"  he  said  with 
a  courteous,  apologetic  gesture,  and  closed  his 
eyes. 

Presently  they  opened  again.  "  My  snuff-box — 
in  my  pocket,"  he  said  to  the  old  woman,  waving 
a  hand  to  where  his  uniform  hung  from  the  tent- 
pole  ;  "  it  is  for  you,  madame." 

She  understood,  smiled  grimly,  felt  in  a  waist- 
coat pocket,  found  the  snuff-box,  and  squatting  on 
the  ground  like  a  tailor,  she  took  two  pinches,  and 
sat  holding  the  enamelled  silver  box  in  her  hand. 

"  Crazy  Joan's  no  fool,  dear  lad,"  she  said  at 
last,  and  took  another  pinch,  and  nodded  her 
head  again  and  again,  while  he  slept  soundly. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

"  LIGHTS  out!" 

The  bugle  rang  softly  down  the  valley,  echoed 
away  tenderly  in  the  hills,  and  was  lost  in  the  dis- 
tance. 

Roused  by  the  clear  call,  filise  rose  from  watch- 
ing beside  Valmond's  couch  and  turned  towards 
the  door  of  the  tent.  The  spring  of  a  perfect  joy 
at  his  safety  had  been  followed  by  an  aching  in  all 
her  body  and  a  trouble  at  her  heart.  Her  feet 
were  like  lead,  her  spirit  quivered  and  shrank  by 
turn.  The  light  of  the  camp-fires  sent  a  glow 
through  the  open  doorway  upon  the  face  of  the 
sleeper. 

She  leaned  over  him.  The  look  she  gave  him 
seemed  to  her  anxious  spirit  like  a  farewell.  This 
man  had  given  her  a  new  life,  and  out  of  this  had 
come  a  new  sight.  Valmond  had  escaped  death, 
but  in  her  poor  confused  way  she  felt  another 
storm  gathering  about  him.  A  hundred  feelings 
possessed  her;  but  one  thought  was  master  of 
them  alt :  when  trouble  drew  round  him  she  must 
be  near  him,  must  be  strong  to  help  him,  protect 
him,  if  need  be.  Yet  a  terrible  physical  weakness 
was  on  her.  Her  limbs  trembled,  and  her  heart 
throbbed  in  a  sickening  way. 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        165 

Valmond  stirred  in  his  sleep;  a  smile  passed 
over  his  face.  She  wondered  what  gave  it  birth. 
She  knew  well  it  was  not  for  her,  that  smile.  It  be- 
longed to  his  dream  of  success — when  a  thousand 
banners  should  flaunt  in  the  gardens  of  the  Tuile- 
ries.  Overmastered  by  a  sudden  rush  of  emotion, 
she  fell  on  her  knees  at  his  bed-side,  bursting  into 
noiseless  sobs  which  shook  her  from  head  to 
foot.  Every  nerve  in  her  body  responded  to  the 
shock  of  feeling ;  she  was  having  her  dark  hour 
alone. 

At  last,  staggering  to  her  feet,  she  turned  to 
the  open  door.  The  tents  lay  silent  in  the  moon- 
shine, but  wayward  lights  flickered  in  the  sump- 
tuous dusk,  and  the  quiet  of  the  hills  hung  like  a 
canopy  over  the  bivouac  of  the  little  army.  No 
token  of  misfortune  came  out  of  this  peaceful  en- 
campment, no  omen  of  disaster  crossed  the  long 
lane  of  drowsy  fires  and  huge  amorous  shadows. 
The  sense  of  doom  was  in  the  girl's  own  heart, 
not  in  this  deep  cradle  of  the  hills. 

Now  and  again  a  sentinel  crossed  the  misty 
line  of  vision,  silent,  and  majestically  tall,  in  the 
soft  haze  which  came  down  from  Dalgrothe  Moun- 
tain, and  fell  like  a  delicate  silver  veil  before  the 
face  of  the  valley. 

As  she  looked,  lost  in  a  kind  of  dream,  there 
floated  up  from  a  distant  tent  the  refrain  she  knew 
so  well : 

"  Oh,  say,  where  goes  your  heart  ? 
vive  le  roi  !  " 


166        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

I 
Her  hand  caught  her  bosom   as   if  to  stifle  a 

sudden  pain.  That  song  had  been  the  keynote 
to  her  new  life,  and  it  seemed  now  as  if  it  were 
also  to  be  the  final  benediction.  All  her  spirit 
gathered  itself  up  for  a  great  resolution :  she 
would  not  yield  to  this  invading  weakness,  this 
misery  of  body  and  mind. 

Someone  drew  out  of  the  shadows  and  came 
towards  her.  It  was  Madame  D£gardy.  She  had 
seen  the  sobbing  figure  inside  the  tent,  but  with 
the  occasional  wisdom  of  the  foolish  of  this  world, 
she  had  not  been  less  considerate  than  the  chil- 
dren of  light. 

With  brusque,  kindly  taps  of  her  stick,  she  drove 
the  girl  to  her  own  tent,  and  bade  her  sleep  ;  but 
sleep  was  not  for  £lise  that  night,  and  in  the  gray 
dawn,  while  yet  no  one  was  stirring  in  the  camp, 
she  passed  slowly  down  the  valley  to  her  home. 

Madame  Chalice  was  greatly  troubled  also. 
Valmond's  life  was  saved.  In  two  days  he  was 
on  his  feet,  eager  and  ardent  again,  and  preparing 
to  go  to  the  village  :  but  what  would  the  end  of  it 
all  be  ?  She  knew  of  De  la  Riviere's  intentions, 
and  she  foresaw  a  crisis.  If  Valmond  were  in 
very  truth  a  Napoleon,  all  might  be  well,  though 
this  great  adventure  must  close  here.  If  he  were 
an  impostor,  things  would  go  cruelly  hard  with 
him.  Impostor  ?  Strange,  how,  in  spite  of  all 
evidence  against  him,  she  still  felt  a  sureness  in 
him  somewhere  ;  a  radical  reality,  a  convincing 
quality  of  presence.  At  times  he  seemed  like  an 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        167 

actor  playing  his  own  character.  She  could  never 
quite  get  rid  of  that  feeling. 

In  her  anxiety,  for  she  was  in  the  affair  for  good 
or  ill,  she  went  again  to  Monsieur  Garon. 

"  You  believe  in  Monsieur  Valmond,  dear  avo- 
cat  ?  "  she  asked. 

The  little  man  looked  at  her  admiringly,  though 
his  admiration  was  a  quaint,  Arcadian  thing ; 
and,  perching  his  head  on  one  side  abstractedly, 
he  answered : 

"Ah,  yes,  ah,  yes!  Such  candor!  He  is  the 
son  of  Napoleon  and  a  princess,  born  after  Napo- 
leon's fall,  not  long  before  his  death." 

"  Then  Monsieur  Valmond  is  really  name- 
less ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Ah,  there  is  the  point — the  only  point ;  but 
his  Excellency  can  clear  up  all  that,  and  will  do  so 
in  good  time,  he  says.  He  maintains  that  France 
will  accept  him." 

<7But  the  government  here,  will  they  put  him 
down  ?  proceed  against  him  ?  Can  they  ?  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  fear  they  can  proceed  against  him. 
He  may  recruit  men,  but  he  may  not  drill  and 
conspire — and  so  on.  Yet " — the  old  man  smiled, 
as  though  at  some  distant  and  pleasing  prospect — 
"the  cause  is  a  great  one ;  it  is  great.  Ah,  madame, 
dear  madame  " — he  got  to  his  feet,  and  stepped  into 
the  middle  of  the  floor — "he  has  thetrue  Napoleonic 
spirit.  He  loves  it  all.  At  the  very  first,  it  seemed 
as  if  he  were  going  to  be  a  little  ridiculous  ;  now  it 
is  as  if  there  was  but  one  thing  for  him—love  of 


168        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

France,  and  loyalty  to  the  cause.  Ah,  think  of  the 
glories  of  the  Empire  :  of  France  as  the  light  of 
Europe,  of  Napoleon  making  her  rich,  and  proud, 
and  dominant.  And  think  of  her  now,  sinking  into 
the  wallow  of  bourgeois  vulgarity.  If— if,  as  his 
Excellency  said,  the  light  were  to  come  from  here, 
even  from  this  far  corner  of  the  world,  from  this 
old  France,  to  be  the  torch  of  freedom  once  again 
— from  our  little  parish  here  ! " 

His  face  was  glowing,  his  thin  hands  made  a 
quick  gesture  of  charmed  anticipation. 

Madame  Chalice  looked  at  him  in  a  sort  of 
wonder  and  delight.  Dreamers  all !  And  this 
vfeionary  Napoleon  had  come  into  the  little  man's 
quiet,  cultured,  passive  life,  and  had  transformed 
him,  filled  him  with  adventure  and  patriotism. 
There  must  be  something  behind  Valmond,  some 
real,  even  some  great  thing,  or  this  were  not  pos- 
sible. It  was  not  surprising  that  she,  with  the 
spirit  of  dreams  and  romance  deep  in  her,  should 
be  sympathetic,  even  carried  away  for  the  mo- 
ment. 

"  How  is  the  feeling  in  the  parish  since  his  ill- 
ness ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Never  so  strong  as  now.  Many  new  recruits 
come  to  him.  Organization  goes  on,  and  his  Excel- 
lency has  issued  a  proclamation.  I  have  advised 
him  against  that — it  is  not  necessary,  it  is  illegal. 
He  should  not  tempt  our  Government  too  far. 
But  he  is  a  man  of  as  great  simplicity  as  courage, 
of  directness  and  virtue — a  wholesome  soldier " 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        169 

She  thought  again  of  that  moonlit  night,  and 
£lise's  window,  and  a  kind  of  hatred  of  the  man 
came  up  in  her.  No,  no,  they  all  were  wrong,  he 
was  not  the  true  thing. 

"Dear  avocat,"  she  said  suddenly,  "you  are  a 
good  friend.  May  I  always  have  as  good  !  But 
have  you  ever  thought  that  this  thing  may  end  in 
sore  disaster  ?  Is  the  man  worthy  our  friendship 
and  our  adherence  ?  Are  we  doing  right  ?  " 

"  Ah,  dear  madame,  convictions,  principles, 
truth,  they  lead  to  good  ends — somewhere.  I 
have  a  letter  here  from  Monsieur  Valmond.  It 
breathes  noble  things  ;  it  has  humor,  too — ah, 
yes,  so  quaint !  I  am  to  see  him  this  afternoon. 
He  returns  to  the  Louis  Quinze  to-day.  The  Cure" 
and  I " 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  interrupting 
him.  "  Will  you  take  me  this  evening  to  Mon- 
sieur Valmond,  dear  friend  ?  "  she  asked. 

She  saw  now  how  useless  it  was  to  attempt  any- 
thing through  these  admirers  of  Valmond ;  she 
must  do  it  herself.  He  must  be  firmly  warned 
and  dissuaded.  The  conviction  had  suddenly  come 
to  her  with  great  force,  that  the  end  was  near — 
come  to  her  as  it  came  to  £lise.  Her  wise 
mind  had  seen  the  sure  end  ;  the  heart  of  the 
peasant  girl  had  felt  it. 

The  avocat  readily  promised.  She  was  to  call 
for  him  at  a  little  before  eight  o'clock.  But  she 
decided  that  she  would  first  seek  £lise ;  before 
she  accused  the  man,  she  would  question  the 


170       WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

woman.  Above  and  beyond  all  anger  she  felt  at 
this  miserable  episode,  there  was  pity  in  her  heart 
for  the  lonely  girl. 

Madame  Chalice  was  capable  of  fierce  tempers, 
of  great  caprices,  of  even  wild  injustice,  when  her 
emotions  had  their  way  with  her ;  but  her  heart 
was  large,  her  nature  deep  and  broad,  and  her  in- 
stincts kind.  The  little  touch  of  barbarism  in  her 
gave  her,  too,  a  sense  of  primitive  justice.  She 
was  self-analytical,  critical  of  life  and  conduct,  yet 
her  mind  and  her  heart,  when  put  to  the  great 
test,  were  above  mere  analysis. 

Her  rich  nature,  alive  with  these  momentous 
events,  feeling  the  prescience  of  coming  crisis, 
sent  a  fine  glow  into  her  face,  into  her  eyes.  Ex- 
citement gave  a  fresh  elasticity  to  her  step.  In 
spite  of  her  serious  thoughts,  she  looked  very 
young,  almost  irresponsible.  No  ordinary  ob- 
server could  guess  the  mind  that  lay  behind 
the  glowing  eyes.  Even  the  tongue  at  first  de- 
ceived, till  it  began  to  probe,  to  challenge,  to 
drop  sharp,  incisive  truths  in  little  gold-leaved 
pellets,  which  brought  conviction  when  the  gold- 
leaf  wore  off. 

The  sunlight  made  her  part  of  the  brilliant 
landscape,  and  she  floated  into  it,  neither  too 
dainty  nor  too  luxurious.  The  greatest  heat 
of  the  day  was  past,  and  she  was  walking  slowly 
under  the  maples,  on  the  way  to  Rise's  home, 
when  she  was  arrested  by  a  voice  near  her.  Then 
a  tall  figure  leaped  the  fence,  and  came  to  her  with 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        171 

outstretched  hand  and  an  unmistakable  smile  of 
pleasure. 

"  I've  called  at  the  Manor  twice,  and  found  you 
out,  so  I  took  to  the  highway,"  he  said  gayly. 

"My  dear  Seigneur,"  she  answered  with  mock 
gravity,  "  ancestors'  habits  show  in  time." 

" Come,  that's  severe,  isn't  it?  " 

"  You  have  waylaid  me  in  a  lonely  place,  master 
highwayman ! "  she  said  with  a  torturing  sweet- 
ness. 

He  had  never  seen  her  so  radiantly  debonair ; 
yet  her  heart  was  full  of  annoying  anxiety. 

"  There's  so  much  I  want  to  say  to  you,"  he 
answered  more  seriously. 

"  So  very  much  ?  " 

"  Very  much  indeed." 

She  looked  up  the  road.  "  I  can  give  you  ten 
minutes,"  she  said.  "Suppose  we  walk  up  and 
down  under  these  trees.  It's  shady  and  quiet  here. 
Now,  proceed,  monsieur.  Is  it  my  money  or  my 
life  ?  " 

"  You  are  in  a  charming  mood  to-day." 

"  Which  is  more  than  I  could  say  for  you  the 
last  time  we  met.  You  threatened,  stormed,  were 
childish,  impossible  to  a  degree." 

His  face  became  grave.  "  We  were  such  good 
friends  once,"  he  said  softly. 

"  Once — once  ?  "  she  asked  maliciously.  "  Once 
Cain  and  Abel  were  a  happy  family.  When  was 
that  once,  Monsieur  De  la  Riviere  ?  " 

"  Two  years  ago.    What  talks  we  had  then  ! 


172        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

And  I  had  so  looked  forward  to  your  coming 
again.  It  was  the  alluring  thing  in  my  life,  your 
arrival,"  he  went  on;  "but  something  came  be- 
tween." 

His  tone  nettled  her.  He  talked  as  if  he  had 
some  distant  claim  on  her. 

"Something  came  between,"  she  repeated 
slowly,  mockingly.  "That  sounds  melodramatic 
indeed.  What  was  it  came  between — a  coach- 
and-four,  or  a  grand  army  ?  " 

"  Nothing  so  stately,"  he  answered,  piqued  by 
her  tone.  "  A  filibuster  and  his  ragamuffins." 

"  Ragamuffins  would  be  appreciated  by  Mon- 
sieur Valmond's  followers,  spoken  at  the  four 
corners,"  she  answered. 

"  Then  I'll  change  it,"  he  said  :  "  a  ragamuffin 
and  his  filibusters." 

"  The  '  ragamuffin '  always  speaks  of  his  enemies 
with  courtesy,  and  the  filibusters  love  their  leader," 
was  her  tart  rejoinder. 

"  At  half  a  dollar  a  day,"  he  answered  sharply. 

"They  get  that  much  from  his  Excellency,  do 
they  ?  "  she  asked  in  real  surprise.  "  That  doesn't 
look  like  filibustering,  does  it  ?  " 

"  '  His  Excellency ' !  "  he  retorted.  "  Why  won't 
you  look  this  matter  straight  in  the  face  ?  Napo- 
leon, or  no  Napoleon,  the  end  of  this  thing  is  ruin." 

"Take  care  that  you  don't  get  lost  in  the 
de"bris,"  she  said  bitingly. 

"I  can  take  care  of  myself.  I  am  sorry  to  have 
you  mixed  up  in  it." 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        173 

"  You  are  sorry !  How  good  of  you  !  How 
paternal  ! " 

"  If  your  husband  were  here " 

"If  my  husband  were  here,  you  would  prob- 
ably be  his  best  friend,"  she  rejoined  with  acid 
sweetness  ;  "  and  I  should  still  have  to  take  care 
of  myself." 

Had  he  no  sense  of  what  was  possible  to  leave 
unsaid  to  a  woman  ?  She  was  very  angry,  though 
she  was  also  a  little  sorry  for  him  ;  for  perhaps  in 
the  long  run  he  would  be  in  the  right.  But  he 
must  pay  for  his  present  stupidity. 

"You  wrong  me,"  he  answered  with  a  quick 
burst  of  feeling.  "  You  are  most  unfair.  You 
punish  me  because  I  do  my  public  duty  ;  and  be- 
cause I  would  do  anything  in  the  world  for  you, 
you  punish  me  the  more.  Have  you  forgotten 
two  years  ago  ?  Is  it  so  easy  to  your  hand,  a  true 
and  constant  admiration,  a  sincere  homage,  that 
you  throw  it  aside  like ?  " 

"  Monsieur  De  la  Riviere,"  she  said  with  exas- 
perating deliberation,  her  eyes  filling  with  a  dan- 
gerous light,  "  your  ten  minutes  is  more  than  up. 
And  it  has  been  quite  ten  minutes  too  long." 

"  If  I  were  a  filibuster "  he  said  bitterly 

and  suggestively. 

She  interrupted  him,  murmuring  with  a  purring 
softness  :  "  If  you  had  only  courage  enough !  " 

He  waved  his  hand  angrily.  "If  I  had,  I  should 
hope  you  would  prove  a  better  friend  to  me  than 
you  are  to  this  man." 


174       WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

"  Ah,  in  what  way  do  I  fail  toward  '  this  man '  ?  " 

"By  encouraging  his  downfall.  See — I  know 
I  am  taking  my  life  in  my  hands,  as  it  were,  but  I 
tell  you  this  thing  will  do  you  harm  when  it  goes 
abroad." 

She  felt  the  honesty  of  his  words,  though  they 
angered  her.  He  seemed  to  impute  some  per- 
sonal interest  in  Valmond.  She  would  not  have 
it  from  any  man  in  the  world. 

"  If  you  will  pick  up  my  handkerchief — ah,  thank 
you  !  We  must  travel  different  roads  in  this  mat- 
ter. You  have  warned  ;  let  me  prophesy  :  Mon- 
sieur Valmond — Napoleon  will  come  out  of  this 
with  more  honor  than  yourself." 

"Thanks  to  you,  then,"  he  said  gallantly,  for 
he  admired  her  very  stubbornness. 

"  Thanks  to  himself.  I  honestly  believe  that  you 
will  be  ashamed  of  your  part  in  this,  one  day." 

"  In  any  case,  I  will  force  the  matter  to  a  con- 
clusion," he  answered  firmly.  "  The  fantastic 
thing  must  end." 

"  When  ?  " 

"  Within  two  or  three  days." 

"When  all  is  over,  perhaps  you  will  have  the 
honesty  to  come  and  tell  me  which  was  right — 
you  or  I.  Good-by." 

He  watched  her  sulkily  as  she  left  him,  dipping 
her  parasol  in  mocking  salutation,  and  turned  her 
steps  towards  the  Malboir  cottage. 

£lise  was  busy  at  her  kitchen  fire.  She  looked 
up,  nervously,  as  her  visitor  entered.  Her  heavy 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        175 

brow  grew  heavier,  her  eyes  gleamed  sulkily,  as 
she  dragged  herself  wearily  forward,  and  stood 
silent  and  resentful.  Why  had  this  lady  of  the 
Manor,  come  to  her  ? 

Madame  Chalice  scarcely  knew  how  to  begin, 
for  in  truth,  she  wanted  to  be  the  girl's  friend, 
and  she  feared  making  her  do,  or  say  some  wild 
thing. 

She  looked  round  the  quiet  room.  A  pot  of  fruit 
was  boiling  on  the  stove,  giving  out  a  fragrant  savor, 
and  Rise's  eye  was  on  it  mechanically.  A  bit  of 
sewing  lay  across  a  chair,  and  on  the  wall  hung  a 
military  suit  of  the  old  sergeant,  beside  it  a  short 
sabre.  An  old  tricolor  was  draped  from  a  beam, 
and  one  or  two  maps  of  France  were  pinned  on 
the  wall.  She  fastened  her  look  on  the  maps. 
They  seemed  to  be  her  cue. 

"  Have  you  any  influence  with  your  uncle  ?  " 
she  asked. 

£lise  did  not  answer. 

"  Because,"  Madame  Chalice  went  on  smoothly, 
ignoring  her  silence,  "  I  think  it  would  be  better 
for  him  to  go  back  to  Ville  Bambord — I  am  sure 
of  it." 

The  girl's  lip  curled  angrily.  What  right  had 
this  great  lady  to  interfere  with  her  or  hers  ? 
What  did  she  mean  ? 

"  My  uncle  is  a  general  and  a  brave  man  ;  he 
can  take  care  of  himself,"  she  answered  defi- 
antly. 

Madame  Chalice  did  not  smile  at  the  title.    She 


176       WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

admired  the  girl's  courage.  She  persisted,  how- 
ever. 

"  He  is  one  man,  and " 

"  He  has  plenty  of  men,  madame,  and  his  Ex- 
cellency  " 

"  His  Excellency  and  hundreds  of  men  cannot 
stand  if  the  Government  send  soldiers  against 
them." 

"  Why  should  the  Gover'ment  do  that  ?  They're 
only  going  to  France ;  they  mean  no  trouble 
here." 

"  They  have  no  right  to  drill  and  conspire  here, 
my  girl." 

"  Well,  my  uncle  and  his  men  will  fight ;  we'll 
all  fight,"  £lise  retorted,  her  hands  grasping  the 
arms  of  the  rocking-chair  she  sat  in. 

"  But  why  shouldn't  we  avoid  fighting  ?  What 
is  there  to  fight  for  ?  You  are  all  very  happy  here. 
You  were  very  happy  here  before  Monsieur  Val- 
mond  came.  Are  you  happy  now  ?  " 

Madame  Chalice's  eyes  searched  the  flushed 
face  anxiously.  She  was  growing  more  eager 
every  moment  to  serve,  if  she  could,  this  splendid 
creature. 

"  We  would  die  for  him ! "  answered  the  girl, 
quickly. 

"  You  would  die  for  him,"  she  said  slowly  and 
meaningly. 

"  And  what's  it  to  you,  if  I  would  ?  "  came  the 
sharp  retort.  "  Why  do  you  fine  people  meddle 
yourselves  with  poor  folks'  affairs  ?  " 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        177 

Then,  remembering  she  was  a  hostess,  with  the 
instinctive  courtesy  of  her  race,  she  said  :  "  Ah, 
pardon,  madame  ;  you  meant  nothing,  I'm 
sure." 

"  Why  should  fine  folk  make  poor  folk  unhap- 
py ?  "  said  Madame  Chalice,  quietly  and  sor- 
rowfully, for  she  saw  that  lilise  was  suffering, 
and  all  the  woman  in  her  came  to  her  heart  and 
lips.  She  laid  her  hand  on  the  girl's  arm.  "  In- 
deed yes,  why  should  fine  folk  make  poor  folk 
unhappy  ?  It  is  not  I  alone  who  make  you  un- 
happy, £lise." 

The  girl  shook  off  the  hand  resentfully,  for  she 
guessed  the  true  significance  of  Madame  Chalice's 
words. 

"What  are  you  trying  to  find  out  ?  "  she  asked 
fiercely.  "  What  do  you  want  to  do  ?  Did  I  ever 
come  in  your  way  ?  Why  do  you  come  into  mine  ? 
What's  my  life  to  you  ?  Nothing,  nothing  at  all. 
You're  here  to-day  and  away  to-morrow.  You're 
English  ;  you're  not  of  us.  Can't  you  see  that  I 
want  to  be  left  alone  ?  If  I  were  unhappy  I  could 
look  after  myself.  But  I'm  not,  I'm  not.  I  tell 
you  I'm  not.  I'm  happy.  I  never  knew  what  hap- 
piness was  till  now.  I'm  so  happy  that  I  can 
stand  here  and  not  insult  you,  though  you've  in- 
sulted me." 

"  I  meant  no  insult,  £lise.  I  want  to  help  you  ; 
that  is  all.  I  know  how  hard  it  is  to  confide  in 
one's  relatives,  and  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  I 
might  be  your  friend,  if  you  ever  need  me." 

12 


178        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

The  girl  met  her  sympathetic  look  clearly  and 
steadily. 

"Speak  plain  to  me,  madame,"  she  said. 

"  £lise,  I  saw  some  one  climb  out  of  your  bed- 
room window,"  was  the  slow  reply. 

"  Oh,  my  God  !  oh,  my  God  !  "  she  cried,  star- 
ing blankly  for  a  moment  at  Madame  Chalice. 
Then,  trembling  greatly,  she  reached  to  the  table 
for  a  cup  of  water. 

Madame  Chalice  was  at  once  by  her  side.  "  You 
are  ill,  poor  girl,"  she  said  anxiously,  and  put 
her  arm  around  her. 

£lise  drew  away. 

"  I  will  tell  you  all,  madame,  all ;  and  you  must 
believe  it,  for,  as  God  is  my  judge,  it  is  the  truth." 

Then  she  told  the  whole  story,  exactly  as  it  hap- 
pened, save  mention  of  the  kisses  that  Valmond 
had  given  her.  Her  eyes  now  and  again  filled 
with  tears,  and  she  tried,  in  her  poor  untutored 
way,  to  set  him  right ;  she  spoke  for  him  alto- 
gether, not  for  herself;  and  her  listener  saw  that 
the  bond  which  held  the  girl  to  the  man  might 
be  proclaimed  in  the  streets,  with  no  dishonor. 

"  That's  the  story,  and  that's  the  truth,"  said 
£lise  at  last.  "  He's  a  gentleman,  a  great  man, 
and  Fm  a  poor  girl,  and  there  can  be  nothing  be- 
tween us  ;  but  I'd  die  for  him." 

She  no  longer  resented  Madame  Chalice's  so- 
licitude :  she  was  passive,  and  showed  that  she 
wished  to  be  alone. 

"  You  think  there's  going  to  be  great  trouble  ?  " 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        179 

she  asked,  as  Madame  Chalice  made   ready  to 

g°- 

"  I  fear  so,  but  we  will  do  all  we  can  to  pre- 
vent it." 

She  walked  slowly  toward  the  Manor  in  the 
declining  sunlight,  and  £lise  turned  heavily  to 
her  work  again. 

There  came  to  the  girl's  ears  the  sound  of  a 
dog-churn  in  the  yard  outside,  and  the  dull  roll 
and  beat  seemed  to  keep  time  to  the  aching  pulses 
in  her  head,  in  all  her  body.  One  thought  kept 
circling  through  her  brain  :  there  was,  as  she  had 
felt,  trouble  coming  for  Valmond.  She  felt,  too, 
that  it  was  very  near.  Her  one  definite  idea 
was  that  she  should  be  able  to  go  to  him  when 
that  trouble  came ;  that  she  should  not  fail  him 
at  his  great  need.  Yet  these  pains  in  her  body, 
this  alternate  exaltation  and  depression,  this  pitiful 
weakness  !  She  must  conquer  it.  She  remem- 
bered the  hours  spent  at  his  bedside ;  the 
moments  when  he  was  all  hers — by  virtue  of  his 
danger,  and  her  own  unwavering  care  of  him.  She 
recalled  the  dark  moment,  when  Death,  intrusive, 
imminent,  lurked  at  the  tent  door,  and  when  in 
its  shadow  she  emptied  out  her  soul  in  that  one 
kiss  of  fealty  and  farewell. 

That  kiss — there  came  to  her  again,  suddenly, 
Madame  D£gardy's  cry  of  warning,  "  Don't  get 
his  breath,  idiot.  It's  death  !  " 

Death  !  So  that  was  it :  the  black  fever  was  in 
her  veins !  That  kiss  had  sealed  her  own  doom. 


l8o        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

She  knew  it  now.  He  had  given  her  life  by  giving 
her  love.  Well,  he  should  give  her  death  too — 
her  lord  of  life  and  death.  She  was  of  the  chosen 
few  who  could  drink  the  cup  of  light,  and  the  cup 
of  darkness,  with  equally  regnant  soul. 

But  it  might  lay  her  low  in  the  very  hour  of 
Valmond's  trouble.  She  must  conquer  it — how  ? 
To  whom  could  she  turn  for  succor  ?  There 
was  but  one — yet  she  could  not  seek  Madame 
De*gardy,  for  the  old  woman  would  drive  her  to 
her  bed,  and  keep  her  there.  There  was  but  this 
to  do  :  to  possess  herself  of  those  wonderful  herbs 
which  had  been  given  her  Napoleon  in  his  hour 
of  peril. 

Dragging  herself  wearily  to  the  little  hut  by  the 
river,  she  knocked,  and  waited.  All  was  still, 
and  opening  the  door,  she  entered.  She  caught 
up  a  candle,  lighted  it,  and  then  began  her 
search.  Under  an  old  pan,  on  a  shelf,  she  found 
both  herbs  and  powder.  Snatching  a  handful  of 
the  herbs,  she  kissed  them  with  joyful  heart. 
Saved — she  was  saved !  Ah,  thank  the  Blessed 
Virgin  !  She  would  thank  her  forever  ! 

A  horrible  sinking  sensation  seized  her.  Turn- 
ing in  pain  and  dismay,  she  saw  the  face  of  Parpon 
at  the  window.  With  a  blind  instinct  for  protec- 
tion, she  staggered  towards  the  door,  and  fell,  her 
fingers  still  clasping  the  precious  medicants. 

As  Parpon  hastily  entered,  Madame  De*gardy 
hobbled  out  of  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  and  fur- 
tively watched  the  hut.  When  the  light  appeared, 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        l8l 

she  crept  to  the  door,  and  opened  it  stealthily 
upon  the  intruders  of  her  home. 

Parpon  was  kneeling  by  the  unconscious  girl, 
lifting  up  her  head,  and  looking  at  her  in  horrified 
distress. 

With  a  shrill  cry  she  came  forward  and  dropped 
on  her  knees  at  the  other  side  of  Elise.  Her  hand, 
fumbling  anxiously  over  the  girl's  breast,  met  the 
hard  and  warty  palm  of  the  dwarf.  She  stopped 
suddenly,  raised  the  sputtering  candle,  and  peered 
into  his  eyes  with  a  vague,  wavering  intensity. 
For  minutes  they  knelt  there,  the  silence  clothing 
them  about,  the  body  of  the  girl  between  them. 
A  lost  memory  was  feeling  blindly  its  way  home 
again.  By  and  by,  out  of  an  infinite  past,  some- 
thing struggled  to  the  old  woman's  eyes,  and  Par- 
pon's  heart  almost  burst  in  his  anxiety.  At 
length  her  look  steadied.  Memory,  recognition, 
showed  in  her  face. 

With  a  wild  cry  her  gaunt  arms  stretched  across, 
and  caught  the  great  head  to  her  breast. 

"  Where  have  you  been  so  long,  my  son,  my 
son  ?  "  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XV 

V  ALMOND'S  strength  came  back  quickly,  but 
something  had  given  his  mind  a  new  color.  He 
felt,  by  a  strange  telegraphy  of  fate,  that  he  had 
been  spared  death  by  fever,  to  meet  an  end  more 
in  keeping  with  the  strange  adventure  which  now 
was  coming  to  a  crisis.  The  next  day  he  was 
going  back  to  Dalgrothe  Mountain,  the  day  after 
that  there  should  be  a  final  review,  and  the  suc- 
ceeding day,  the  march  to  the  sea  would  begin. 
There  could  be  no  more  delay.  A  move  must  be 
made.  He  had  so  lost  himself  in  the  dream,  that 
it  had  become  real,  and  he  himself  was  the  splen- 
did adventurer,  the  maker  of  empires.  True,  he 
had  but  a  small  band  of  ill-armed  men,  but  better 
arms  could  be  got,  and  by  the  time  they  reached 
the  sea — who  could  tell ! 

As  he  sat  alone  in  the  quiet  dusk  of  his  room 
at  the  Louis  Quinze,  waiting  for  Parpon,  there 
came  a  tap  at  his  door.  It  opened,  the  gar$on 
mumbled  something,  and  Madame  Chalice  entered 
unattended. 

Her  look  had  no  particular  sympathy,  but  there 
was  a  sort  of  friendliness  in  the  rich  color  of  her 
face,  in  the  brightness  of  her  eyes. 

"  The  avocat  was  to  have  accompanied  me," 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        183 

she  said  ;  "but  at  the  last  I  thought  it  better  to 
come  without  him,  because " 

She  paused.  "  Yes,  madame — because  ?  "  he 
asked,  offering  her  a  chair.  He  was  dressed  in 
simple  black,  as  on  that  first  day  when  he  called 
at  the  Manor,  and  it  set  off  the  ivory  paleness 
of  his  complexion,  making  his  face  delicate  yet 
strong. 

She  looked  round  the  room,  almost  casually, 
before  she  went  on. 

"  Because  what  I  have  to  say  were  better  said 
to  you  alone — much  better." 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  right,"  he  answered,  as 
though  he  trusted  her  judgment  utterly  ;  and  truly 
there  was  always  something  boy-like  in  his  attitude 
towards  her.  The  compliment  was  unstudied  and 
pleasant,  but  she  steeled  herself  for  her  task.  She 
knew  instinctively  that  she  had  influence  with  him, 
and  she  meant  to  use  it  to  its  utmost  limit. 

"  I  am  glad,  we  are  all  glad,  you  are  better," 
she  said  cordially  ;  then  added :  "  How  do  your 
affairs  come  on  ?  What  are  your  plans  ?  " 

Valmond  forgot  that  she  was  his  inquisitor  :  he 
only  saw  her  as  his  ally,  his  friend.  So  he  spoke 
to  her,  as  he  had  done  at  the  Manor,  with  a  sort 
of  eloquence  of  his  great  theme.  He  had  changed 
greatly.  The  rhetorical,  the  bizarre,  had  left  his 
speech.  There  was  no  more  grandiloquence  than 
might  be  expected  of  a  soldier  who  saw  things  in 
the  bright  flashes  of  the  battle-field — sharp  pinges 
of  color,  the  dyes  well  soaked  in.  He  had  the  gift 


1 84        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

of  telling  a  story :  some  peculiar  timbre  in  the 
voice,  some  direct  dramatic  touch.  She  listened 
quietly,  impressed  and  curious.  The  impossibili- 
ties seemed  for  a  moment  to  vanish  in  the  big 
dream,  and  she  herself  was  a  dreamer,  a  born  ad- 
venturer among  the  wonders  of  life.  If  she  had 
been  a  man  she  should  have  been  an  explorer  or  a 
soldier. 

But  her  mind  speedily  reasserted  itself,  and  she 
gathered  herself  together  for  the  unpleasant  task 
that  lay  before  her. 

She  looked  him  steadily  in  the  eyes.  "  I  have 
come  to  tell  you  that  you  must  give  up  this 
dream,"  she  said  slowly.  "  It  can  come  to  nothing 
but  ill ;  and  in  the  mishap  you  may  be  hurt  past 
repair." 

"I  shall  never  give  up — this  dream,"  he  said, 
surprised  but  firm,  almost  dominant. 

"  Think  of  these  poor  folk  who  surround  you, 
who  follow  you.  Would  you  see  harm  come  to 
them  ?  " 

"  As  soldiers,  they  will  fight  for  a  cause." 

"What  is — the  cause  ?  "  she  asked  meaningly. 

"  France,"  was  the  quiet  reply. 

"  Not  so— -you,  monsieur  !  " 

"  You  called  me  sire  once,"  he  said  tenta- 
tively. 

"I  called  my  maid  a  fool  yesterday,  under 
some  fleeting  influence ;  one  has  moods,"  she 
answered. 

"  If  you  would  call  me  simpleton  to-morrow,  we 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        185 

might  strike  a  balance  and  find — what  should  we 
find  ?  " 

"  An  adventurer,  I  fear,"  she  remarked. 

He  was  not  at  a  loss.  "  An  adventurer  truly," 
he  said.  "It  is  a  very  long  way  to  France,  and 
there  is  much  to  do." 

She  could  scarcely  reconcile  this  acute,  self-con- 
tained man  with  the  enthusiast  and  comedian,  she 
had  seen  in  the  Curb's  garden. 

"  Monsieur  Valmond,"  she  said,  "  I  neither  sus- 
pect nor  accuse  ;  I  only  feel.  There  is  something 
terribly  uncertain  in  this  cause  of  yours,  in  your 
claims.  You  have  no  right  to  waste  lives." 

"  To  waste  lives  ?  "  he  asked  curiously. 

"  Yes.  The  Government  is  to  proceed  against 
you." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  he  answered,  "  Monsieur  De  la 
Riviere  has  seen  to  that ;  but  he  must  pay  for  his 
interference." 

"  That  is  beside  the  point.  If  a  force  comes 
against  you — what  then  ?  " 

"  Then  I  will  act  as  becomes  a  Napoleon,"  he 
answered  rather  grandly. 

So,  there  was  a  touch  of  the  bombastic  in  his 
manner  even  yet !  She  laughed  a  little  ironically. 
Then  all  at  once  her  thoughts  reverted  to  £lise, 
and  some  latent  cruelty  in  her  awoke.  Though 
she  believed  the  girl,  she  would  accuse  the  man, 
the  more  so  because  she  suddenly  became  aware 
that  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  herself  in  ardent  ad- 
miration. 


1 86        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

"  You  might  not  have  a  convenient  window," 
she  said  with  deliberate  consuming  malevolence. 

His  glance  never  wavered,  though  he  under- 
stood instantly  what  she  meant.  So,  she  had  dis- 
covered that !  He  flushed. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  "  I  hope  that  I  am  a  gen- 
tleman at  heart ! " 

The  whole  scene  came  back  on  him,  and  a 
moisture  sprang  to  his  eyes. 

"  She  is  innocent,"  he  said — "  upon  my  sacred 
honor  !  Yes,  yes,  I  know  that  the  evidence  is  all 
against  me,  but  I  speak  the  absolute  truth.  You 
saw — that  night,  did  you  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  Ah,  it  is  a  pity — a  pity.  But,  madame,  as  you 
are  a  true  woman,  believe  what  I  say  ;  for,  I 
repeat,  it  is  the  truth." 

Then,  with  admirable  reticence,  even  great 
delicacy,  he  told  the  story  as  £lise  had  told  it,  and 
as  convincingly. 

"  I  believe  you,  monsieur,"  she  said  frankly, 
when  he  had  done,  and  stretched  out  her  hand  to 
him  with  a  sudden  impulse  of  regard.  "  Now, 
follow  that  unselfishness  by  another." 

He  looked  inquiringly  at  her. 

"  Give  up  your  adventure,"  she  added  eagerly. 

"  Never,"  was  his  instant  reply,  "  never  !  " 

"  I  beg  of  you,  I  appeal  to  you — my  friend," 
she  urged,  possessed  of  the  ardor  of  the  counsel 
who  pleads  a  bad  case.  "  I  do  not  impeach  you 
or  your  claims,  but  I  ask  that  you  leave  this  vil- 


WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC        187 

lage  as  you  found  it,  these  happy  people  undis- 
turbed in  their  homes.  Ah,  go  !  Go  now,  and 
you  will  be  a  name  to  them,  remembered  always 
with  admiration.  You  have  been  courageous, 
you  have  been  liked,  you  have  been  inspiring — 
ah,  yes,  I  admit  it,  even  to  me ! — inspiring.  The 
spirit  of  adventure  in  you,  your  hopes,  your  plans 
to  do  great  things,  roused  me.  It  was  that  made 
me  your  friend  more  than  aught  else.  Truly 
and  frankly,  I  do  not  think  that  I  am  convinced 
of  anything  save  that  you  are  no  coward,  and 
that  you  love  a  cause.  Let  it  go  at  that — you 
must,  you  must.  You  came  in  the  night,  pri- 
vately and  mysteriously ;  go  in  the  night,  this 
night,  mysteriously — an  inscrutable,  romantic  fig- 
ure. If  you  are  all  you  say — and  I  should  be 
glad  to  think  so — go  where  your  talents  will  have 
greater  play,  your  claims  larger  recognition. 
This  is  a  small  game  here.  Leave  us  as  you 
came.  We  shall  be  the  better  for  it ;  our  poor  folk 
here  will  be  the  better  for  it.  Stay,  and  who  can 
tell  what  may  happen  ?  I  was  wrong,  wrong — I 
see  that  now — to  have  encouraged  you  at  all. 
I  repent  of  it.  Here,  as  I  talk  to  you,  I  feel,  with 
no  doubt  whatever,  that  the  end  of  your  bold 
exploit  is  near.  Can  you  not  see  that  ?  Ah,  yes, 
you  must,  you  must !  Take  my  horses  to-night, 
leave  here,  and  come  back  no  more  ;  and  none  of 
us  shall  feel  sorry  in  thinking  of  the  time  when 
Valmond  came  to  Pontiac." 
Variable,  accusing,  she  had  suddenly  shown 


1 88        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

him  something  beyond  caprice,  beyond  accident 
of  mood  or  temper.  The  true  woman  had  spoken  ; 
all  outer  modish  garments  had  dropped  away  from 
her  real  nature,  and  revealed  its  abundant  depth 
and  sincerity.  All  that  was  roused  in  him  at  this 
moment,  was  never  known  ;  he  never  could  tell  it. 
There  were  eternal  spaces  between  them.  She 
had  been  speaking  to  him  just  now  with  no  per- 
sonal sentiment.  She  was  only  the  lover  of  honest 
things,  the  friend,  the  good  comrade,  obliged  to 
flee  a  cause  for  its  terrible  unsoundness,  yet  try- 
ing to  prevent  wreck  and  ruin. 

He  arose  and  turned  his  head  away  for  an  in- 
stant, so  moving  had  been  her  eloquence.  His 
glance  caught  the  picture  of  the  Great  Napoleon, 
and  his  eyes  met  hers  again  with  new  resolu- 
tion. 

"I  must  stay,"  he  answered  ;  ''I  will  not  turn 
back,  whatever  comes.  This  is  but  child's  play, 
but  a  speck  beside  what  I  mean  to  do.  True,  I 
came  in  the  dark,  but  I  will  go  in  the  light.  I 
shall  not  leave  them  behind,  these  poor  folk  ; 
they  shall  come  with  me.  I  have  money,  France 
is  waiting,  the  people  are  sick  of  the  Bourbons,  I 
have  the  great  love  of  our  cause,  and " 

"  But  you  must,  you  must  listen  to  me,  mon- 
sieur," she  said  desperately. 

She  came  close  to  him,  and  out  of  the  frank 
eagerness  of  her  nature,  laid  her  hand  upon  his 
arm,  and  looked  him  in  the  eyes  with  an  almost 
tender  appealing. 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        189 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Monsieur 
De  la  Riviere  was  announced. 

"  Ah,  madame,"  said  the  young  Seigneur,  in  a 
tone  more  than  a  little  acrid,  "secrets  of  state,  no 
doubt  ? " 

"Statesmen  need  not  commit  themselves  to 
newsmongers,  monsieur,"  she  answered,  still 
standing  very  near  Valmond,  as  though  she  would 
continue  a  familiar  talk  when  the  disagreeable  in- 
terruption had  passed.  She  was  thoroughly  fear- 
less, clear  of  heart,  above  all  littlenesses. 

"  I  had  come  to  warn  Monsieur  Valmond  once 
again,  but  I  find  him  with  his  ally,  counsellor — 
and  comforter,"  he  retorted  with  perilous  sugges- 
tion. 

Time  would  move  on,  and  Madame  Chalice 
might  forget  that  wild  remark,  but  she  never 
would  forgive  it,  and  she  never  wished  to  do  so. 
The  insolent,  petty,  provincial  Seigneur  ! 

"Monsieur  De  la  Riviere,"  she  returned  with 
icy  dignity,  "you  cannot  live  long  enough  to 
atone  for  that  impertinence." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  madame,"  he  returned  earnr 
estly,  awed  by  the  look  in  her  face,  for  she  was 
thoroughly  aroused.  "I  came  to  stop  a  filibuster- 
ing expedition,  to  save  the  credit  of  the  place 
where  I  was  born,  where  my  people  have  lived 
for  generations." 

She  made  a  quick,  deprecatory  gesture.  "  You 
saw  me  enter  here,"  she  said,  "  and  you  thought 
to  discover  treason  of  some  kind — Heaven  knows 


190        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

what  a  mind  like  yours  may  imagine  !  You  find 
me  giving  better  counsel  to  Monsieur  Valmond 
than  you  could  ever  hope  to  give — out  of  a  better 
heart  and  from  a  better  understanding.  You  have 
been  worse  than  intrusive  ;  you  have  been  rash 
and  stupid.  You  call  his  Excellency  filibuster  and 
impostor.  I  assure  you  it  is  my  fondest  hope 
that  Prince  Valmond  Napoleon,  will  ever  count 
me  among  his  friends,  in  spite  of  all  his  ene- 
mies." 

She  turned  her  shoulder  on  him,  and  took  Val- 
mond's  hand  with  a  pronounced  obeisance,  saying, 
"Adieu,  sire"  (she  was  never  sorry  she  had  said 
it),  and  passed  from  the  room.  Valmond  was 
about  to  follow  her. 

"  Thank  you,  no,  I  will  go  to  my  carriage 
alone,"  she  said,  and  he  did  not  insist. 

When  she  had  gone  he  stood  holding  the  door 
open,  and  looking  at  De  la  Riviere.  He  was  very 
pale  ;  there  was  a  menacing  fire  in  his  eyes.  The 
young  Seigneur  was  ready  for  battle  also. 

"  I  am  occupied,  monsieur,"  said  Valmond, 
meaningly. 

"  I  have  come  to  warn  you " 

"The  old  song;  I  am  occupied,  monsieur." 

"  Charlatan  ! "  said  De  la  Riviere,  and  took  a 
step  angrily  towards  him,  for  he  was  losing  com- 
mand of  himself. 

At  that  moment  Parpon,  who  had  been  lurking 
outside  in  the  hall  for  a  half  hour  or  more, 
stepped  into  the  room,  came  between  the  two, 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        1 9! 

and  looked  up  with  a  mocking  leer  at  the  young 
Seigneur. 

"  You  have  twenty-four  hours  to  leave  Pontiac," 
cried  De  la  Riviere,  as  he  left  the  room. 

"My  watch  keeps  different  time,  monsieur," 
said  Valmond,  coolly,  and  closed  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

JT*  ROM  the  depths  where  £lise  was  cast,  it  was 
not  for  her  to  see  that  her  disaster  had  brought 
light  to  others  ;  that  out  of  the  pitiful  confusion 
of  her  life  had  come  order  and  joy.  A  half-mad 
woman,  without  memory,  knew  again  whence  she 
came  and  whither  she  was  going  ;  and,  bewildered 
and  happy,  with  a  hungering  tenderness,  moved 
her  hand  over  the  head  of  her  poor  dwarf,  as 
though  she  would  know  if  he  were  truly  her  own 
son.  A  new  spirit  also  had  come  into  Parpon's 
eyes,  gentler,  less  weird,  less  distant.  With  the 
advent  of  their  joy  a  great  yearning  came  to  them 
to  save  £lise.  They  hung  over  her  bed,  watchful, 
solicitous. 

It  must  go  hard  with  her,  and  twenty-four  hours 
would  see  the  end,  or  a  fresh  beginning.  She  had 
fought  back  the  fever  too  long,  her  brain  and 
emotions  had  been  strung  to  a  fatal  pitch,  and  the 
disease,  like  a  hurricane,  carried  her  on  for  hours. 
Her  own  mother  sat  in  a  corner,  stricken  and 
numb.  At  last  she  fell  asleep  in  her  chair,  but 
Parpon  and  his  mother  slept  not  at  all.  Now 
and  again  the  dwarf  went  to  the  door  and  looked 
out  at  the  night — still,  and  full  of  the  wonder  of 
growth  and  rest. 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        193 

Far  up  on  Dalgrothe  Mountain,  a  soft  brazen 
light  lay  like  a  shield  against  the  sky,  a  mys- 
tical, hovering  thing.  He  knew  it  to  be  the 
reflection  of  the  camp-fires  in  the  valley,  where 
Lagroin  and  his  men  were  sleeping.  There  came 
out  of  the  general  stillness  a  long,  low  murmur,  as 
though  nature  were  crooning :  the  untiring  rustle 
of  the  river,  the  water  that  rolled  on  and  never 
came  back  again.  Where  did  they  all  go — those 
thousands  of  rivers  forever  pouring  on,  lazily 
or  wildly  ?  What  motive  ?  What  purpose  ?  Just 
to  empty  themselves  into  the  greater  waters,  there 
to  be  lost  ?  Was  it  enough  to  travel  on  so  inevit- 
ably to  the  end,  and  be  swallowed  up  ? 

And  these  millions  of  lives  hurrying  along  ? 
Was  it  worth  while  living,  only  to  grow  older  and 
older,  and  coming  sooner  or  later  to  the  Home- 
stead of  the  Ages,  enter  a  door  that  opened  only 
inward,  and  be  swallowed  up  in  the  twilight  ? 
Why  arrest  the  travelling,  however  swift  it  be  ? 
Sooner  or  later  it  must  come — with  dusk  the  end 
of  it. 

The  dwarf  heard  the  moaning  of  the  stricken 
girl,  her  cry  of  "  Valmond  !  Valmond  ! "  the  sobs 
that  followed,  the  woe  of  her  self-abnegation,  even 
in  delirium. 

For  one's  self  it  mattered  little,  maybe,  the  atti- 
tude of  the  mind,  whether  it  would  arrest  or  be 
glad  of  the  terrific  travel ;  but  for  another  human 
being,  who  might  judge  ?  Who  might  guess  what 
was  best  for  another,  what  was  most  merciful, 
13 


194       WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

most  good  ?  Destiny  meant  us  to  prove  our  case 
against  it,  as  long  and  as  well  as  we  might ;  to 
establish  our  right  to  be  here  as  long  as  we  could, 
so  discovering  the  world  day  by  day,  and  our- 
selves to  the  world,  and  ourselves  to  ourselves. 
To  live  it  out,  resisting  the  power  that  destroys,  to 
the  end — that  was  the  divine  secret. 

"  Valmond  !  Valmond  !  oh  Valmond  ! " 

The  voice  wailed  out  the  words  again  and  again. 

Through  the  sounds  there  came  another  inner 
voice,  that  resolved  all  the  crude,  primitive 
thoughts  here  defined  ;  vague,  elusive,  in  Par- 
pon's  own  brain. 

The  girl's  life  should  be  saved  at  any  cost,  even 
if  to  save  it  meant  the  awful  and  certain  alterna- 
tive doom  his  mother  had  whispered  to  him  over 
the  bed  an  hour  before. 

He  turned  and  went  into  the  house.  The  old 
woman  bent  above  Iilise,  watching  intently,  her 
eyes  straining,  her  lips  anxiously  compressed. 

"  My  son,"  she  said,  "she  will  die  in  an  hour  if 
I  don't  give  her  more.  If  I  do,  she  may  die  at 

once.  If  she  gets  well,  she  will  be "  She 

made  a  motion  to  her  eyes. 

"  Blind,  mother,  blind  ?  "  he  whispered,  and  he 
looked  round  the  room.  How  good  was  the  sight 
of  the  eyes  ! 

"Perhaps  she  would  rather  die,"  said  the  old 
woman.  "  She  is  unhappy."  She  was  thinking 
of  her  own  far,  bitter  past,  remembered  now  after 
so  many  years.  "Misery  and  blindness  too — ah  ! 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        195 

What  right  have  I  to  make  her  blind  ?  It's  a 
great  risk,  Parpon,  my  dear  son." 

"  I  must,  I  must,  for  your  sake.  Valmond  ! 
Valmond  !  oh  Valmond  !  "  cried  £lise  again  out 
of  her  delirium.  The  stricken  girl  had  answered 
for  Parpon.  She  had  decided  for  herself.  Life  ! 
that  was  all  she  prayed  for  :  for  another's  sake, 
not  her  own. 

Her  mother  slept  on  in  the  corner  of  the 
room,  unconscious  of  the  terrible  verdict  hanging 
in  the  balance. 

Madame  D£gardy  emptied  into  a  cup  of  liquor, 
the  strange  brown  powder,  mixed  it,  and  held  it 
to  the  girl's  lips,  pouring  it  slowly  down. 

Once,  twice,  during  the  next  hour  a  low,  an- 
guished voice  filled  the  room ;  but  just  as  dawn 
came,  Parpon  stooped,  and  tenderly  wiped  a  soft 
moisture  from  the  face  lying  so  quiet  and  peace- 
ful now,  against  the  pillow. 

"  She  breathes  easy,  poor  pretty  bird  ! "  said 
the  old  woman,  gently. 

"  She'll  never  see  again  ?  "  asked  Parpon,  mourn- 
fully. 

"  Never  a  thing  while  she  lives,"  was  the  whis- 
pered reply. 

"But  she  has  her  life,"  said  the  dwarf;  "she 
wished  it  so." 

"What's  the  good?"  The  old  woman  had 
divined  why  Elise  had  wanted  to  live. 

The  dwarf  did  not  answer.  His  eyes  wandered 
about  abstractedly,  and  fell  upon  the  sleeping 


196        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

mother,  unconscious  of  the  awful  peril  passed, 
and  the  painful  salvation  come  to  her  daughter. 

The  blue  gray  light  of  morning  showed  under  the 
edge  of  the  closed  window-blind.  Day  was  min- 
gling incongruously  with  night  in  the  little  room. 

Parpon  opened  the  door  and  went  out.  Morn 
was  spreading  slowly  over  the  drowsy  landscape. 
There  was  no  life  as  yet  in  all  the  horizon,  no 
fires,  no  animals  stirring,  no  early  workmen,  no 
anxious  harvesters.  But  the  birds  were  out,  and 
presently  here  and  there  cattle  rose  up  in  the 
fields. 

Then,  over  the  foot-hills,  he  saw  a  white  horse 
and  its  rider,  show  up  against  the  gray  dust  of  the 
road. 

Rise's  sorrowful  cry  came  to  him :  "  Valmond  ! 
Valmond  !  oh  Valmond  ! " 

His  duty  to  the  girl  was  done  ;  she  was  safe  ; 
now  he  must  follow  that  figure  to  where  the  smoke 
of  the  camp-fires,  came  curling  up  by  Dalgrothe 
Mountain.  There  were  rumors  of  trouble  :  he 
must  again  be  minister,  counsellor,  friend  to  his 
master. 

A  half  hour  later  he  was  climbing  the  hill  where 
he  had  seen  the  white  horse  and  its  rider.  The 
sound  of  a  drum  came  from  the  distance.  The 
gloom  and  suspense  of  the  night  just  passed  went 
from  him,  and  into  the  sunshine  he  sang  : 

"  Oh,  grand  to  the  war  he  goes, 
O  gai,  vive  le  rot  I " 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        197 

Not  long  afterwards  he  entered  the  encamp- 
ment. Around  one  fire,  cooking  their  breakfasts, 
were  Muroc  the  charcoalman,  Duclosse  the  meal- 
man,  and  Garotte  the  limeburner.  They  all  were 
in  good  spirits. 

"  For  my  part,"  Muroc  was  saying,  as  Parpon 
nodded  at  them,  and  passed  by,  "  I'm  not  satisfied." 

"  Don't  you  get  enough  to  eat  ?  "  asked  the  meal- 
man,  whose  idea  of  happiness  was  based  upon  the 
appreciation  of  a  good  dinner. 

"But  yes,  and  enough  to  drink,  thanks  to  his 
Excellency,  and  the  buttons  he  put  on  my  coat." 
Muroc  jingled  some  gold  coins  in  his  pocket.  "  It's 
this  being  clean,  that's  the  devil !  When  I  sold 
charcoal,  I  was  black  and  beautiful,  and  no  dirt 
showed  ;  I  polished  like  a  pan.  Now,  if  I  touch 
a  potato  I'm  filthy.  Pipe-clay  is  hell's  stuff  to 
show  you  up  as  the  Lord  made  you." 

Garotte  laughed.  "  Wait  till  you  get  to  fight- 
ing. Powder  sticks  better  than  charcoal.  For 
my  part,  I'm  always  clean  as  a  whistle." 

"  But  you're  like  a  bit  of  wool,  limeburner, 
you  never  sweat.  Dirt  don't  stick  to  you  as  to 
me  and  the  mealman.  Duclosse  there,  used  to 
look  like  a  pie  when  the  meal  and  sweat  dried  on 
him.  When  we  reach  Paris,  and  his  Excellency 
gets  his  own,  I'll  take  to  charcoal  again  ;  I'll  fill 
the  palace  cellars.  That  suits  me  better  than 
chalk,  and  washing  every  day." 

"  Do  you  think  we'll  ever  get  to  Paris  ?  "  asked 
the  mealman,  cocking  his  head  seriously. 


198        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

"  That's  the  will  of  God,  and  the  weather  at 
sea,  and  what  the  Bourbons  do,"  answered  Muroc, 
grinning. 

It  was  hard  to  tell  how  deep  this  adventure  lay 
in  Muroc's  mind.  He  had  a  prodigious  sense  of 
humor,  the  best  critic  in  the  world. 

"  For  me,"  said  the  limeburner,  "  I  think  there'll 
be  fighting  before  we  get  to  the  Bourbons.  There's 
talk  that  the  Gover'ment's  coming  against  us." 

"  Done  !  "  said  the  charcoalman.  "  We'll  see 
the  way  our  great  man  puts  their  noses  out  of 
joint." 

"  Here's  Lajeunesse,"  broke  in  the  mealman,  as 
the  blacksmith  came  near  to  their  fire.  He  was 
dressed  in  complete  regimentals,  made  by  the 
parish  tailor. 

"  Is  that  so,  Monsieur  le  Capitaine  ?  "  asked 
Muroc.  "  Is  the  Gover'ment  to  be  fighting  us  ? 
Why  should  it  ?  We're  only  for  licking  the  Bour- 
bons, and  who  cares  a  sou  for  them,  eh  ?  " 

"  Not  a  go'-dam,"  said  Duclosse,  airing  his 
favorite  oath.  "  The  English  hate  the  Bourbons 
too." 

Lajeunesse  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  then 
burst  into  a  laugh.  "  There's  two  gills  of  rum 
for  every  man  at  twelve  o'clock  to-day,  so  says  his 
Excellency  ;  and  two  buttons  for  the  coat  of  every 
sergeant,  and  five  for  every  captain.  The  English 
up  there  in  Quebec  can't  do  better  than  that,  can 
they  ?  And  will  they  ?  No.  Does  a  man  spend 
money  on  a  hell's  foe,  unless  he  means  to  give  it 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        199 

work  to  do  ?  Pish  !  Is  his  Excellency  like  to  hang 
back  because  Monsieur  De  la  Riviere  says  he'll 
fetch  the  Government  ?  Bah  !  The  bully  soldiers 
would  come  with  us  as  they  went  with  the  Great 
Napoleon  at  Grenoble.  Ah,  that !  His  Excellency 
told  me  about  that  just  now.  Here  stood  the  sol- 
diers"— he  mapped  out  the  ground  with  his  sword 
— "  here  stood  the  Great  Napoleon,  all  alone.  He 
looks  straight  before  him.  What  does  he  see  ? 
Nothing  less  than  a  hundred  muskets  pointing  at 
him.  What  does  he  do  ?  He  walks  up  to  the 
soldiers,  opens  his  coat,  and  says :  '  Soldiers, 
comrades,  is  there  one  of  you  will  kill  your  em- 
peror ?  '  Damned  if  there  was  one.  They  dropped 
their  muskets,  and  took  to  kissing  his  hands. 
There,  my  dears,  that  was  the  Great  Emperor's 
way,  our  emperor's  father's  little  way." 

"  But  suppose  they  fired  at  us  'stead  of  at  his 
Excellency  ?  "  asked  the  mealman. 

"Then,  mealman,  you'd  settle  your  account  for 
lightweights  sooner  than  you  want." 

Duclosse  twisted  his  mouth  dubiously.  He 
was  not  sure  how  far  his  enthusiasm  could  carry 
him.  Muroc  shook  his  shaggy  head  in  mirth. 

"  Well,  'tis  true  we're  getting  off  to  France," 
said  the  limeburner.  "  We  can  drill  as  we  travel, 
and  there's  plenty  of  us  for  a  start." 

"Morrow  we  go,"  said  Lajeunesse.  "The 
proclamation  is  to  be  out  in  an  hour,  and  you're 
all  to  be  ready  by  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
His  Excellency  is  to  make  a  speech  to  us  to-night ; 


200        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

then  the  general — ah,  what  a  fine  soldier,  and 
eighty  years  old  ! — he's  to  give  orders  and  make  a 
speech  also  :  and  I'm  to  be  colonel " — he  paused 
dramatically — "  and  you  three  are  for  captains, 
and  you're  to  have  five  new  yellow  buttons  to  your 
coats,  like  these."  He  drew  out  some  gold  coins 
and  jingled  them.  Every  man  got  to  his  feet, 
and  Muroc  let  the  coffee-tin  fall.  "  There's  to  be 
a  grand  review  in  the  village  this  afternoon. 
There's  breakfast  for  you,  my  dears  !  " 

Their  exclamations  were  interrupted  by  Lajeu- 
nesse,  who  added  :  "  And  my  Madelinette  is  to  go 
to  Paris,  after  all,  and  Monsieur  Parpon  is  to  see 
that  she  starts  right." 

Monsieur  Parpon  was  a  new  title  for  the  dwarf. 
But  the  great  comedy,  so  well  played,  had  justi- 
fied it. 

"  Oh,  his  Excellency  '11  keep  his  word,"  said 
the  mealman.  "  I'd  take  £lise  Malboir's  word 
about  a  man  for  a  million  francs,  was  he  prince  or 
ditcher ;  and  she  says  he's  the  greatest  man  in  the 
world.  She  knows." 

"That  reminds  me, "said  Lajeunesse,  gloomily, 
"£lise  has  the  black  fever." 

The  mealman's  face  seemed  to  petrify,  his  eyes 
stood  out,  the  bread  he  had  in  his  teeth  dropped, 
and  he  stared  wildly  at  Lajeunesse.  All  were 
occupied  in  watching  him,  and  they  did  not  see 
the  figure  of  a  girl  approaching. 

Muroc,  dumbfounded,  spoke  first :  "  £lise — the 
black  fever  ! "  he  gasped,  thoroughly  awed. 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        2OI 

"She  is  better,  she  will  live,"  said  a  voice  behind 
Lajeunesse.  It  was  Madelinette,  who  had  come 
early  to  the  camp  to  cook  her  father's  break- 
fast. 

Without  a  word  the  mealman  turned,  pulled 
his  clothes  about  him  with  a  jerk,  and,  pale  and 
bewildered,  started  away  at  a  run  down  the  plateau. 

"  He's  going  to  the  village,"  said  the  charcoal- 
man.  "  He  hasn't  leave.  That's  court-mar- 
tial !  " 

Lajeunesse  shook  his  head  knowingly.  "  He's 
never  had  but  two  ideas  in  his  nut — meal  and 
£lise  ;  let  him  go." 

The  mealman  was  soon  lost  to  view,  unheeding 
the  challenge  that  rang  after  him. 

Lagroin  had  seen  the  fugitive  from  a  distance, 
and  came  down,  inquiring.  When  he  was  told, 
he  swore  that  Duclosse  should  suffer  divers  pun- 
ishments. 

"  A  pretty  kind  of  officer  ! "  he  cried  in  a  fury. 
"  Damn  it,  is  there  another  man  in  my  army  would 
do  it  ?  " 

No  one  answered,  and  because  Lagroin  was  not 
a  wise  man,  he  failed  to  see  that  in  time  his  army 
might  be  dissipated  by  such  awkward  incidents. 
When  Valmond  was  told,  he  listened  with  a  better 
understanding. 

All  Lajeunesse  had  announced  came  to  pass. 
The  review  and  march  and  show  were  goodly, 
after  their  kind,  and  by  dint  of  money  and  wine 
the  enthusiasm  was  greater  than  ever  it  had  been; 


202        WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

for  it  was  joined  to  the  pathos  of  the  expected  de- 
parture. The  Cure*  and  the  avocat,  kept  within 
doors  ;  for  they  had  talked  together,  and  now  that 
the  day  of  fate  was  at  hand,  and  sons,  brothers, 
fathers,  were  to  go  off  on  this  far  adventure,  a  new 
spirit  suddenly  thrust  itself  in,  and  made  them  sad 
and  anxious.  Monsieur  De  la  Riviere  was  gloomy  ; 
Medallion  was  the  one  comfortable,  cool  person 
in  the  parish.  It  had  been  his  conviction  that 
something  would  occur  to  stop  the  whole  business 
at  the  critical  moment.  He  was  a  man  of  impres- 
sions, and  he  lived  in  the  light  of  them  continu- 
ously. Wisdom  might  have  been  looked  for  from 
Parpon,  but  he  had  been  won  by  Valmond  from 
the  start,  and  now  in  the  great  hour  he  was 
absorbed  in  another  theme — the  restoration  of  his 
mother  to  himself,  and  to  herself. 

At  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening  Valmond  and 
Lagroin  were  in  the  streets,  after  they  had  marched 
their  men  back  to  camp.  A  crowd  had  gathered 
near  the  church,  for  his  Excellency  was  on  his 
way  to  visit  the  Cure". 

As  he  passed  they  cheered  him.  He  stopped  to 
speak  to  them.  Before  he  had  ended,  some  one 
came  crying  wildly  that  the  soldiers,  the  red- 
coats, were  come.  The  sound  of  a  drum  rolled 
up  the  street,  and  presently,  round  a  corner,  came 
the  well-ordered  troops  of  the  Government. 

Instantly  Lagroin  wheeled  to  summon  any  stray 
men  of  his  little  army,  but  Valmond  laid  an 
arresting  hand  on  his  arm.  It  would  have  been 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        203 

the  same  in  any  case,  for  the  people  had  scattered 
like  sheep,  and  stood  apart. 

They  were  close  by  the  church  steps.  Valmond 
mechanically  saw  the  mealman,  open-mouthed 
and  dazed,  start  forward  from  the  crowd  ;  but, 
hesitating,  he  drew  back  again  almost  instantly, 
and  was  swallowed  up  in  the  safety  of  distance. 
He  smiled  at  the  mealman's  hesitation,  even  while 
he  said  to  himself,  "This  ends  it — ends  it!" 

He  said  it  with  no  great  sinking  of  heart,  with 
no  fear.  It  was  the  solution  of  all ;  it  was  his  only 
way  to  honor. 

The  soldiers  were  halted  a  little  distance  from 
the  two  ;  and  the  officer  commanding,  after  a  pre- 
amble, in  the  name  of  the  Government  formally 
called  upon  Valmond  and  Lagroin  to  surrender 
themselves,  or  suffer  the  perils  of  resistance. 

"  Never ! "  broke  out  Lagroin,  and  drawing  his 
sword,  he  shouted,  "Vive  Napoleon!  The  Old 
Guard  never  surrenders  ! " 

Then  he  made  as  if  to  rush  forward  on  the 
troops. 

"  Fire  !  "  called  the  officer. 

Twenty  rifles  blazed  out.  Lagroin  tottered,  and 
fell  at  the  feet  of  his  master. 

Raising  himself  he  clasped  Valmond's  knee,  and 
looking  up,  said  gaspingly  : 

"  Adieu,  sire  !  I  love  you  ;  I  die  for  you."  His 
head  fell  at  his  emperor's  feet,  though  the  hands 
still  clutched  the  knee. 

Valmond  stood  over  his  body,  and  drew  a  pistol. 


204        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

"  Surrender,  monsieur  !  "  said  the  officer,  "  or  we 
fire  ! " 

"Never!  A  Napoleon  knows  how  to  die!" 
came  the  ringing  reply,  and  he  raised  his  pistol  at 
the  officer. 

"  Fire  !  "  came  the  sharp  command. 

"  Vive  Napoleon  /"  cried  the  doomed  man,  and 
fell,  mortally  wounded. 

At  that  instant  the  Cure*,  with  Medallion,  came 
hurrying  round  the  corner  of  the  church. 

"Fools  !  Murderers  !"  he  said  to  the  soldiers. 
"  Ah,  these  poor  children  ! " 

Stooping,  he  lifted  up  Valmond's  head,  and 
Medallion  felt  Lagroin's  pulseless  heart. 

The  officer  picked  up  Valmond's  pistol.  A  mo- 
ment afterwards  he  looked  at  the  dying  man  in 
wonder,  for  he  found  that  the  weapon  was  not 
loaded  ! 


CHAPTER   XVII 


TLI 
ITL 


L  OW  long,  Chemist  ? 

"  Two  hours,  perhaps." 

"  So  long  ?  " 

After  a  moment  he  said  dreamily  :  "  It  is  but  a 
step." 

The  Little  Chemist  nodded,  though  he  did  not 
understand.  The  Cure*  stooped  over  him. 

"  A  step,  my  son  ?  "  he  asked,  thinking  he  spoke 
of  the  voyage  the  soul  takes. 

"  To  the  Tuileries,"  answered  Valmond,  and  he 
smiled.  The  Cure"s  brow  clouded  ;  he  wished  to 
direct  the  dying  man's  thoughts  elsewhere. 

"  It  is  but  a  step  —  anywhere,"  he  continued, 
and  looked  towards  the  Little  Chemist.  "  Thank 
you,  dear  monsieur,  thank  you.  There  is  a  silver 
night-lamp  in  my  room  ;  I  wish  it  to  be  yours. 
Adieu,  my  friend." 

The  Little  Chemist  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not. 
He  stooped  and  kissed  Valmond's  hand,  as  though 
he  thought  him  still  a  prince,  and  not  the  impostor 
which  British  rifles  had  declared  him.  To  the  end, 
the  coterie  would  act  according  to  the  light  of  their 
own  eyes. 

"It  is  now  but  a  step  to  anything,"  repeated 
Valmond. 


206        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

The  Cur£  understood  him  at  last.  "The  long- 
est journey  is  short  by  the  light  of  the  grave, "  he 
responded  gently. 

Presently  the  door  opened,  admitting  the  avocat. 
Valmond  calmly  met  Monsieur  Garon's  pained 
look,  and  courteously  whispered  his  name. 

"  Your  Excellency  has  been  basely  treated,"  said 
the  avocat,  his  lip  trembling. 

"  On  the  contrary,  well,  dear  monsieur,'*  an- 
swered the  ruined  adventurer.  "  Destiny  plays  us 
all.  Think  :  I  die  the  death  of  a  soldier,  and  my 
crusade  was  a  soldier's  vision  of  conquest.  I  have 
paid  the  price.  I  have " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  lay  lost  in 
thought.  At  last  he  spoke  in  a  low  tone  to  the 
avocat,  who  quickly  began  writing  at  his  dictation. 

The  chief  clause  of  the  record  was  a  legacy  of 
ten  thousand  francs  to  "  my  faithful  minister  and 
constant  friend,  Monsieur  Parpon  ;  "  another  often 
thousand  to  Madame  Joan  D^gardy,  "  whose  skill 
and  care  of  me  merits  more  than  I  can  requite ; " 
twenty  thousand  to  the  Church  of  St.  Nazaire  of 
the  parish  of  Pontiac  ;  five  thousand  to  "  the  be- 
loved Monsieur  Fabre,  cur£  of  the  same  parish,  to 
whose  good  and  charitable  heart  I  come  for  my 
last  comforts  ;  "  twenty  thousand  to  "  Mademoi- 
selle Madelinette  Lajeunesse,  that  she  may  learn 
singing  under  the  best  masters  in  Paris."  To 
Madame  Chalice  he  left  all  his  personal  effects, 
ornaments,  and  relics,  save  a  certain  decoration 
given  the  old  sergeant,  and  a  ring  once  worn  by 


WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC        207 

the  Emperor  Napoleon.  These  were  for  a  gift  to 
"  dear  Monsieur  Garon,  who  has  honored  me  with 
his  distinguished  friendship  ;  and  I  pray  that  our 
mutual  love  for  the  same  cause,  may  give  me 
some  title  to  his  remembrance." 

Here  the  avocat  stopped  him  with  a  quick,  pro- 
testing gesture. 

"Your  Excellency  !  your  Excellency!"  he  said 
in  a  shaking  voice,  "  my  heart  has  been  with  the 
man,  as  with  the  cause." 

Other  legacies  were  given  to  Medallion,  to  the 
family  of  Lagroin,  of  whom  he  still  spoke  as  "  my 
beloved  general  who  died  for  me  ; "  and  ten  francs 
to  each  recruit  who  had  come  to  his  standard. 

After  a  long  pause,  he  said  lingeringly  :  "To 
Mademoiselle  itlise  Malboir,  the  memory  of  whose 
devotion  and  solicitude  gives  me  joy  in  my  last 
hour,  I  bequeath  fifty  thousand  francs.  In  the 
event  of  her  death,  this  shall  revert  to  the  parish 
of  Pontiac,  in  whose  graveyard  I  wish  my  body  to 
lie.  The  balance  of  my  estate,  whatever  it  may 
now  be,  or  may  prove  to  be  hereafter,  I  leave  to 
Pierre  Napoleon,  third  son  of  Lucien  Bonaparte, 
Prince  of  Canino,  of  whom  I  cherish  a  reverent 
remembrance." 

A  few  words  more  ended  the  will,  and  the  name 
of  a  bank  in  New  York  was  given  as  agent.  Then 
there  was  silence  in  the  room,  and  Valmond  ap- 
peared to  sleep. 

Presently  the  avocat,  thinking  that  he  might 
wish  to  be  alone  with  the  Cure*,  stepped  quietly  to 


208        WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO   PONTIAC 

the  door,  and  opened  it  upon  Madame  Chalice. 
She  pressed  his  hand,  her  eyes  full  of  tears,  passed 
inside  the  room,  going  softly  to  a  shadowed  corner, 
where  she  sat  watching  the  passive  figure  on  the 
bed. 

What  were  the  thoughts  of  this  man,  now  that 
his  adventure  was  over  and  his  end  near  ?  If  he 
were  in  very  truth  a  prince,  how  pitiable,  how  pal- 
try !  What  cheap  martyrdom  !  If  an  impostor, 
had  the  game  been  worth  the  candle  ? — Death 
seemed  a  coin  of  high  value  for  this  short,  van- 
ished comedy.  The  man  alone  could  answer,  for 
the  truth  might  not  be  known  save  by  the  knowl- 
edge that  comes  with  the  end  of  all. 

She  looked  at  the  Cure*,  where  he  knelt  praying, 
and  wondered  how  much  of  this  tragedy  the 
anxious  priest  would  lay  at  his  own  door. 

"  It  is  no  tragedy,  dear  Cure*,"  Valmond  said 
suddenly,  as  if  following  her  thoughts. 

"  My  son,  it  is  all  tragedy  until  you  have  shown 
me  your  heart,  that  I  may  send  you  forth  in 
peace." 

He  had  forgotten  Madame  Chalice's  presence, 
and  she  sat  very  still. 

"Even  for  our  dear  Lagroin,"  Valmond  con- 
tinued, "  it  was  no  tragedy.  He  was  fighting  for 
the  cause,  not  for  a  poor  fellow  like  me.  As  a 
soldier  loves  to  die,  he  died — in  the  dream  of  his 
youth,  sword  in  hand." 

"  You  loved  the  cause,  my  son  ? "  was  the 
troubled  question.  "You  were  all  honest  ?  " 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC       209 

Valmond  made  as  if  he  would  rise  on  his  elbow, 
in  excitement,  but  the  Cure"  put  him  gently  back. 

"  From  a  child  I  loved  it,  dear  Cure","  was  the 
quick  reply.  "  Listen,  and  I  will  tell  you  all  my 
story." 

He  composed  himself,  and  his  face  took  on  a 
warm  light,  giving  it  a  pathetic  look  of  happiness. 

"  The  very  first  thing  I  remember  was  sitting  on 
the  sands  of  the  sea-shore,  near  some  woman  who 
put  her  arms  round  me,  and  drew  me  to  her  heart. 
I  seem  even  to  recall  her  face  now,  though  I  never 
could  before — do  we  see  things  clearer  when  we 
come  to  die,  I  wonder  ?  I  never  saw  her  again. 
I  was  brought  up  by  my  parents,  who  were  humble 
peasants,  on  an  estate  near  Viterbo,  in  Italy.  I 
was  taught  in  the  schools,  and  I  made  friends 
among  my  schoolfellows ;  but  that  was  all  the 
happiness  I  had ;  for  my  parents  were  strict  and 
hard  with  me,  and  showed  me  no  love.  At  twelve 
I  was  taken  to  Rome,  and  there  I  entered  the  house 
of  Prince  Lucien  Bonaparte,  as  page.  I  was  al- 
ways near  the  person  of  his  highness." 

He  paused,  at  sight  of  a  sudden  pain  in  the 
Cure"s  face.  Sighing,  he  continued  : 

"  I  travelled  with  him  to  France,  to  Austria,  to 
England,  where  I  learned  to  speak  the  language, 
and  read  what  the  English  wrote  about  the  great 
Napoleon.  Their  hatred  angered  me,  and  I  began 
to  study  what  French  and  Italian  books  said  of 
him.  I  treasured  up  every  scrap  of  knowledge  I 
could  get.  I  listened  to  all  that  was  said  in  the 
14 


210        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

prince's  palace,  and  I  was  glad  when  his  highness 
let  me  read  aloud  private  papers  to  him.  From 
these  I  learned  the  secrets  of  the  great  family. 
The  prince  was  seldom  gentle  with  me — some- 
times almost  brutal,  yet  he  would  scarcely  let  me 
out  of  his  sight.  I  had  little  intercourse  then  with 
the  other  servants,  and  less  still  when  I  was  old 
enough  to  become  a  valet ;  and  a  valet  I  was  to 
the  prince  for  twelve  years." 

The  Curb's  hand  clasped  the  arm  of  his  chair, 
nervously.  His  lips  moved,  but  he  said  nothing 
aloud,  and  he  glanced  quickly  towards  Madame 
Chalice,  who  sat  motionless,  her  face  flushed,  her 
look  fixed  on  Valmond.  So,  he  was  the  mere  im- 
postor after  all — a  valet !  Fate  had  won  the  toss- 
up  ;  not  faith,  or  friendship,  or  any  good  thing. 

"  All  these  years,"  Valmond  continued  pres- 
ently, his  voice  growing  weaker,  "  I  fed  on  such 
food  as  is  not  often  within  the  reach  of  valets. 
I  knew  as  much  of  the  Bonapartes,  of  Napoleonic 
history,  as  the  prince  himself ;  so  much  so  that  he 
often  asked  me  of  some  date  or  fact  of  which  he 
was  not  sure.  In  time,  I  became  almost  like  a 
private  secretary  to  him.  I  lived  in  a  dream  for 
years ;  for  I  had  poetry,  novels,  paintings,  music, 
at  my  hand  all  the  time,  and  the  prince,  at  the 
end,  changed  greatly,  was  affectionate  indeed,  and 
said  he  would  do  good  things  for  me.  I  became 
familiar  with  all  the  intrigues,  the  designs  of  the 
Bonapartes  ;  and  what  I  did  not  know  was  told 
me  by  Prince  Pierre,  who  was  near  my  own  age, 


WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC        211 

and  who  used  me  always  more  like  a  friend  than 
a  servant. 

"One  day  the  prince  was  visited  by  Count 
Bertrand,  who  was  with  the  Emperor  in  his  exile, 
and  I  heard  him  speak  of  a  thing  unknown  to 
history:  that  Napoleon  had  a  son,  born  at  St. 
Helena,  by  a  countess  well  known  in  Europe. 
She  had  landed,  disguised  as  a  sailor,  from  a  mer- 
chant ship,  and  lived  in  retirement  at  Longwood, 
for  near  a  year.  After  the  Emperor  died  the  thing 
was  discovered,  but  the  governor  of  the  island 
made  no  report  of  it  to  the  British  Government, 
for  that  would  have  reflected  on  himself ;  and  the 
returned  exiles  kept  the  matter  a  secret.  It  was 
said  that  the  child  died  at  St.  Helena.  The  story 
remained  in  my  mind,  and  I  brooded  on  it. 

"Two  years  ago  the  prince  died  in  my  arms. 
When  he  was  gone,  I  found  that  I  had  been  left 
five  hundred  thousand  francs,  a  chateau,  and  sev- 
eral relics  of  the  Bonapartes,  as  reward  for  my 
services  to  the  prince,  and,  as  the  will  said,  in 
token  of  the  love  he  had  come  to  bear  me.  To 
these  Prince  Pierre  added  a  number  of  mementos. 
I  went  to  visit  my  parents,  whom  I  had  not  seen 
for  many  years.  I  found  that  my  mother  was 
dead,  that  my  father  was  a  drunkard.  Leaving 
money  for  my  father  with  the  mayor,  I  sailed  for 
England.  From  England  I  came  to  New  York  ; 
from  New  York  to  Quebec.  All  the  time  I  was 
restless,  unhappy.  I  had  had  to  work  all  my  life, 
now  I  had  nothing  to  do.  I  had  lived  close  to  great 


212        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

traditions,  now  there  was  no  habit  of  life  to  keep 
them  alive  in  me.  I  spent  money  freely,  but  it 
gave  me  no  pleasure.  I  once  was  a  valet  to  a 
great  man,  now  I  had  the  income  of  a  gentleman, 
and  was  no  gentleman.  Ah,  do  you  not  shrink 
from  me,  Monsieur  le  Cure*  ?  " 

The  Cure"  did  not  reply,  but  made  a  kindly  ges- 
ture, and  Valmond  continued  : 

"  Sick  of  everything,  one  day  I  left  Quebec  hur- 
riedly. Why  I  came  here  I  do  not  know,  save  that 
I  had  heard  it  was  near  the  mountains,  was  quiet, 
and  I  could  be  at  peace.  There  was  something  in 
me  which  could  not  be  content  in  the  foolishness  of 
idle  life.  All  the  time  I  kept  thinking — thinking. 
If  I  were  only  a  Napoleon,  how  I  would  try  to  do 
great  things  !  Ah,  my  God  !  How  I  loved  the 
Great  Napoleon  !  What  had  the  Bonapartes  done  ? 
Nothing — nothing.  Everything  had  slipped  £way 
from  them.  Not  one  of  them  was  like  the  Em- 
peror. His  own  legitimate  son  was  dead.  None 
of  the  others  had  the  Master's  blood,  fire,  daring 
in  his  veins.  The  thought  grew  on  me,  and  I  used 
to  imagine  myself  his  son.  I  loved  his  memory,  all 
he  did,  all  he  was,  better  than  any  son  could  do.  It 
had  been  my  whole  life,  thinking  of  him  and  the 
Empire,  while  I  brushed  the  prince's  clothes  or 
combed  his  hair.  Why  should  such  tastes  be  given 
to  a  valet  ?  Some  one  somewhere  was  to  blame, 
dear  Cure*. 

"  I  really  did  not  conceive  or  plan  imposture.  I 
was  only  playing  a  comedian's  part  in  front  of  the 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        2 13 

Louis  Quinze,  till  I  heard  Parpon  sing  a  verse  of 
'  Vive  Napoleon ! '  Then  it  all  rushed  on  me, 
captured  me — and  the  rest  you  know. " 

The  Cure*  could  not  trust  himself  to  speak  yet. 

"  I  had  not  thought  to  go  so  far  when  I  began.  It 
was  mostly  a  whim.  But  the  idea  gradually  pos- 
sessed me,  and  at  last  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was 
a  real  Napoleon.  I  used  to  wake  from  the  dream 
for  a  moment,  and  I  tried  to  stop,  but  something  in 
my  blood  drove  me  on — inevitably.  You  were  all 
good  to  me ;  you  nearly  all  believed  in  me.  Lagroin 
came — and  so  it  has  gone  on  till  now,  till  now.  I 
had  a  feeling  what  the  end  would  be.  But  I  should 
have  had  my  dream,  I  should  have  died  for  the 
cause  as  no  Napoleon  or  Bonaparte,  ever  died. 
Like  a  man,  I  would  pay  the  penalty  Fate  should 
set.  What  more  could  I  do  ?  If  a  man  gives  all  he 
has,  is  -not  that  enough  ?  .  .  .  There  is  my 
whole  story.  Now  I  shall  ask  your  pardon,  dear 
Cure*." 

"  You  must  ask  pardon  of  God,  my  son,"  said 
the  priest,  his  looks  showing  the  anguish  he  felt. 

"  The  Little  Chemist  said  two  hours,  but  I  feel  " 
— his  voice  got  very  faint — "  I  feel  that  he  is  mis- 
taken." 

The  Cure"  made  ready  to  read  the  office  for  the 
dying.  "  My  son,"  he  said,  "  do  you  truly  and 
earnestly  repent  you  of  your  sins  ?  " 

Valmond's  eyes  suddenly  grew  misty,  his 
breathing  heavier.  He  scarcely  seemed  to  com- 
prehend. 


214        WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

"  I  have  paid  the  price,  I  have  loved  you  all — 
Parpon — where  are  you  ? — lilise  !  " 

A  moment  of  silence,  and  then  his  voice  rang 
out  with  a  sort  of  sob.  "  Ah,  madame,"  he  said 
chokingly,  "dear  madame,  for  you  I " 

Madame  Chalice  arose  with  a  little  cry,  for  she 
knew  whom  he  meant,  and  her  heart  ached  for 
him  :  she  forgot  his  imposture — everything. 

"  Ah,  dear,  dear  monsieur  !  "  she  said  brokenly. 

He  knew  her  voice,  he  heard  her  coming ;  his 
eyes  opened  wide,  and  he  raised  himself  on  the 
couch  with  a  start.  The  effort  loosened  the  band- 
age at  his  neck,  and  blood  gushed  out  on  his 
bosom. 

With  a  convulsive  motion  he  drew  up  the  cover- 
let to  his  chin,  to  hide  the  red  stream,  and  said 
gaspingly : 

"  Pardon,  madame." 

Then  a  shudder  passed  through  him,  and  with  a 
last  effort  to  spare  her  the  sight  of  his  ensanguined 
body,  he  fell  face  downward,  voiceless  forever. 

The  very  earth  seemed  breathing.  Long  waves 
of  heat  palpitated  over  the  harvest  fields,  and  the 
din  of  the  locust  drove  lazily  through.  The  far 
cry  of  the  kingfisher,  and  the  idly  clacking  wheels 
of  carts  rolling  down  from  Dalgrothe  Mountain, 
gave  accent  to  the  drowsy  melody  of  the  after- 
noon. The  wild  mustard  glowed  so  like  a  golden 
carpet,  that  the  destroying  hand  of  the  anxious 
husbandman  seemed  of  the  blundering  tyranny 


WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO   PONTIAC        21$ 

of  labor :  yet  Fate,  the  sure-reaping  farmer,  was 
this  day  mercilessly  uprooting  tares  in  the  good 
meadow  of  life. 

Whole  fields  were  flaunting  with  poppies,  too 
gay  for  sorrow  to  pass  that  way  ;  but  a  blind  girl, 
led  by  a  little  child,  made  a  lane  through  the  red 
luxuriance,  hurrying  to  the  place  where  vanity, 
and  valor,  and  the  remnant  of  an  unfulfilled  man- 
hood, lay  beaten  to  death.  Destiny,  which  is 
stronger  than  human  love  or  the  soul's  fidelity, 
had  overmastered  self-sacrifice  and  the  heart  of 
woman.  This  woman  had  opened  her  eyes  upon 
the  world  again,  only  to  find  it  all  night,  all  strange  ; 
she  was  captive  of  a  great  darkness. 

As  she  broke  through  the  hedge  of  lilacs  by  the 
Cure"s  house,  the  crowd  of  awe-stricken  people  fell 
back,  opening  a  path  for  her  to  the  door.  She 
moved  as  one  unconscious  of  the  troubled  life  and 
the  vibrating  world  about  her. 

The  hand  of  the  child  let  her  into  the  chamber 
of  death  ;  the  door  closed,  and  she  stood  motion- 
less. 

The  Cure"  made  as  if  to  rise  and  go  towards  her, 
but  Madame  Chalice,  sitting  sorrowful  and  dis- 
mayed at  the  foot  of  the  couch,  by  a  motion  of  her 
hand,  stopped  him. 

The  girl  paused  a  moment,  listening.  "  Mon- 
sieur," she  said,  leaning  forward.  It  was  as  if  a 
soul  leaned  out  of  the  casement  of  life,  calling  into 
the  dark,  and  the  silence  which  may  not  be  com- 
prehended by  mortal  man. 


2l6        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

"  Monsieur — Valmond  !  " 

Her  trembling  hands  were  stretched  out  before 
her  yearningly.  The  Cure'  moved.  She  turned 
towards  the  sound  with  a  pitiful  vagueness. 

"  Valmond,  oh  Valmond  !  "  she  cried  again  be- 
seechingly. 

The  cloak  dropped  from  her  shoulders,  and  the 
loose  robe  enveloping  her  fell  away  from  a  bosom 
that  throbbed  with  the  stifling  passion  of  a  great 
despair. 

Nothing  but  silence. 

She  moved  to  the  wall  like  a  little  child  feeling 
its  way,  ran  her  hand  along  it,  and  touched  a  cru- 
cifix. With  a  moan  she  pressed  her  lips  to  the 
nailed  feet,  and  came  on  gropingly  to  the  couch. 
She  reached  down  towards  it,  but  drew  back  as  if 
in  affright ;  for  a  dumb,  desolating  fear  was  upon 
her. 

But  with  that  direful  courage  which  is  the  last 
gift  to  the  hopeless,  she  stretched  forth  again, 
and  her  fingers  touched  Valmond's  cold  hands. 
They  ran  up  his  breast,  to  his  neck,  to  his  face, 
and  fondled  it,  as  only  life  can  fondle  death, 
out  of  that  pitiful  hunger  which  never  can  be 
satisfied  in  this  world  ;  and  then  moved  with  an 
infinite  tenderness  to  his  eyes,  now  blind  like 
hers,  and  lingered  there  in  the  kinship  of  eternal 
loss. 

A  low,  anguished  cry  broke  from  her : 

"  Valmond — my  love !  my  love  !  "  and  she  fell 
forward  upon  the  breast  of  her  lost  Napoleon. 


WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC        217 

When  the  people  gathered  again  in  the  little 
church  upon  the  hill,  Valmond  and  his  great  adven- 
ture had  become  almost  a  legend,  so  soon  are  men 
and  events  lost  in  the  distance  of  death  and  ruin. 

The  Cure"  preached,  as  he  had  always  done,  with 
a  simple,  practical  solicitude  ;  but  towards  the  end 
of  his  brief  sermon  he  paused,  and,  with  a  grave 
tenderness  of  voice,  said: 

"  My  children,  vanity  is  the  bane  of  mankind  ; 
it  destroys  as  many  souls  as  self-sacrifice  saves ! 
It  is  the  constant  temptation  of  the  human  heart. 
I  have  ever  warned  you  against  it,  as  I  myself 
have  prayed  to  be  kept  from  its  devices — alas  !  at 
times,  how  futilely  !  Vanity  leads  to  imposture, 
and  imposture  to  the  wronging  of  others.  But  if 
a  man  repent,  and  yield  all  he  has,  to  pay  the  high 
price  of  his  bitter  mistake,  he  may  thereby  redeem 
himself  even  in  this  world.  If  he  give  his  life,  re- 
penting, and  if  the  giving  stays  the  evil  he  might 
have  wrought,  shall  we  be  less  merciful  than  God  ? 

"  My  children  "  (he  did  not  mention  Valmond's 
name),  "  his  last  act  was  manly  ;  his  death  was 
beautiful ;  his  sin  was  forgiven.  Those  rifle  bul- 
lets that  brought  him  down,  let  out  all  the  evil  in 
his  blood. 

"  We  have,  my  people,  been  delivered  from  a 
grave  error.  Forgetting — save  for  our  souls'  wel- 
fare— the  misery  of  this  vanity  which  led  us  astray, 
let  us  remember  with  gladness  all  of  him  that  was 
commendable  in  our  eyes :  his  kindness,  eloquence, 
generous  heart,  courage,  and  love  of  Mother- 


2l8        WHEN   VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

Church.  He  lies  in  our  graveyard  ;  he  is  ours  ; 
and,  being  ours,  let  us  protect  his  memory,  as 
though  he  had  not  sought  us  a  stranger,  but  was  of 
us  :  of  our  homes,  as  of  our  love,  and  of  our  sorrow. 
"  And  so  atoning  for  our  sins,  as  did  he,  may  we 
at  last  come  to  the  perfect  pardon,  and  to  peace 
everlasting." 


Epilogue 


(EXTRACT  FROM  A  LETTER  WRITTEN  BY  MADAME 
CHALICE  TO  MONSIEUR  FABRE,  CURE  OF  PON- 
TIAC,  TWO  MONTHS  AFTER  VALMOND'S  DEATH.) 

"...  And  here,  dear  Cure*,  you  shall  have 
my  justification  for  writing  you  two  letters  in  one 
week,  though  I  would  make  the  accident  a  habit 
if  I  were  sure  it  would  more  please  you  than  per- 
plex you. 

"Prince  Pierre,  son  of  Prince  Lucien  Bonaparte, 
arrived  in  New  York  two  days  ago,  and  yesterday 
morning  he  came  to  the  Atlantic  Bank,  and  asked 
for  my  husband.  When  he  made  known  his  busi- 
ness, Harry  sent  for  me  that  I  might  speak  with 
him. 

"  Dear  Cure*,  hearts  and  instincts  were  right  in 
Pontiac  :  our  unhappy  friend  Valmond  was  that 
child  of  Napoleon,  born  at  St.  Helena,  of  whom  he 
himself  spoke  at  his  death  in  your  home.  His 
mother  was  the  Countess  of  Carnstadt.  At  the 
beginning  of  an  illness  which  followed  Napoleon's 
death,  the  child  was  taken  from  her  by  Prince 
Lucien  Bonaparte,  and  was  brought  up  and  edu- 


220       WHEN  VALMOND   CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

cated  as  the  son  of  poor  peasants  in  Italy.  No  one 
knew  of  his  birth  save  the  companions  in  exile  of 
the  Great  Emperor.  All  of  them,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  Count  Bertrand,  believed,  as  Valmond  said, 
that  the  child  had  died  in  infancy  at  St.  Helena. 

"Prince  Lucien  had  sworn  to  the  mother  that  he 
would  care  personally  for  the  child,  and  he  fulfilled 
his  promise  by  making  him  a  page  in  his  house- 
hold, and  afterwards  a  valet — a  base  redemption 
of  the  vow. 

"  But,  even  as  Valmond  drew  our  hearts  to  him, 
so  at  last  he  won  Prince  Lucien's,  as  he  had  from 
the  first  won  Prince  Pierre's. 

"It  was  not  until  after  Valmond's  death, when  re- 
ceiving the  residue  of  our  poor  friend's  estate,  that 
Prince  Pierre  learned  the  truth  from  Count  Ber- 
trand. He  immediately  set  sail  for  New  York,  and 
next  week  he  will  secretly  visit  you,  for  love  of  the 
dead  man,  and  to  thank  you  and  our  dear  avocat, 
together  with  all  others  who  believed  in  and  be- 
friended his  unfortunate  kinsman. 

"Ah,  dear  Cure*,  think  of  the  irony  of  it  all !  — 
that  a  man  be  driven,  by  the  very  truth  in  his 
blood,  to  that  strangest  of  all  impostures — to  im- 
personate himself !  He  did  it  too  well  to  be  the 
mere  comedian.  I  felt  that  all  the  time.  I  shall 
show  his  relics  now  with  more  pride  than  sorrow. 

"Prince  Pierre  dines  with  us  to-night.  He  looks 
as  if  he  had  the  Napoleonic  daring — or  rashness 
— but  I  am  sure  he  has  not  the  good  heart  of  our 
Valmond  Napoleon.  .  .  ." 


WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC        221 
II. 

The  haymakers  paused  and  leaned  upon  their 
forks,  children  left  the  strawberry  vines  and  climbed 
upon  the  fences,  as  the  coach  from  the  distant  city 
dashed  down  the  street  towards  the  four  corners, 
and  the  welcoming  hotel,  with  its  big  dormer  win- 
dows and  well-carved  veranda.  As  it  whirled  by, 
the  driver  shouted  something  at  a  stalwart  forgeron, 
standing  at  the  doorway  of  his  smithy,  and  he 
passed  it  on  to  a  loitering  mealman  and  a  lime- 
burner. 

A  girl  came  slowly  over  the  crest  of  a  hill.  Feel- 
ing her  way  with  a  stick,  she  paused  now  and  then 
to  draw  in  long  breaths  of  sweet  air  from  the 
meadows,  as  if  in  the  joy  of  Nature,  she  found  a 
balm  for  the  cruelties  of  Destiny. 

Presently  a  puff  of  smoke  shot  out  from  the  hill- 
side where  she  stood,  and  the  sound  of  an  old  can- 
non followed.  From  the  Seigneury,  far  over,  came 
an  answering  report ;  and  tricolors  ran  fluttering 
up  on  flag-staffs,  at  the  four  corners,  and  in  the 
Cure"'s  garden. 

The  girl  stood  wondering,  her  fine,  calm  face 
expressing  the  quick  thoughts  which  had  belonged 
to  eyes  once  so  full  of  hope  and  blithe  desire.  The 
serenity  of  her  life — its  charity,  its  truth,  its  cheerful 
care  for  others,  the  confidence  of  the  young  which 
it  invited,  showed  in  all  the  aspect  of  her.  She 
heard  the  flapping  of  the  flag  in  the  Cure"s  gar- 
den, and  turned  her  darkened  eyes  towards  it.  A 


222        WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC 

look  of  pain  crossed  her  face,  and  a  hand  trembled 
to  her  bosom,  as  if  to  ease  a  great  throbbing  of  her 
heart.  These  cannon  shots  and  this  shivering  pen- 
nant brought  back  a  scene  at  the  four  corners, 
eight  years  before. 

Footsteps  came  over  the  hill :  she  knew  them, 
and  turned. 

"  Parpon  !  "  she  said,  with  a  glad  gesture. 

Without  a  word  he  placed  in  her  hand  a  bunch 
of  violets  that  he  carried.  She  lifted  them  to  her 
lips. 

"What  is  it  all?"  she  asked,  turning  again  to 
the  tricolor. 

"  Louis  Napoleon  enters  the  Tuileries  to-day," 
he  answered. 

"  Ours  was  the  son  of  the  Great  Emperor,"  she 
said.  "  Let  us  be  going,  Parpon ;  we  will  lay  these 
violets  on  his  grave."  She  pressed  the  flowers  to 
her  heart. 

"  France  would  have  loved  him,  as  did  we,"  said 
the  dwarf,  as  they  moved  onward. 

"  As  do  we,"  the  blind  girl  answered  softly. 

Their  figures  against  the  setting  sun  took  on  a 
strange  burnished  radiance,  so  that  they  seemed  as 
mystical  pilgrims  journeying  into  a  golden  haze, 
which  shut  them  out  from  view  beyond  the  hill,  as 
the  Angelus  sounded  from  the  tower  of  the  ancient 
church. 

THE  END. 


PRINTED  BY  JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON 
AT  THE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS  AT  CAM- 
BRIDGE FOR  STONE  AND  KIMBALL, 
PUBLISHERS,  OF  CHICAGO. 

AUGUST  :     MDCCCXCV 


